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William Shakespeare. All works - - The First Part Of King Henry The Fourth

Проза и поэзия >> Русская и зарубежная поэзия >> Зарубежная поэзия >> Вильям Шекспир >> William Shakespeare. All works
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William Shakespeare. The First Part Of King Henry The Fourth

1598
Dramatis Personae
King Henry the Fourth. Henry, Prince of Wales, son to the King. Prince John of Lancaster, son to the King. Earl of Westmoreland. Sir Walter Blunt. Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York. Archibald, Earl of Douglas. Owen Glendower. Sir Richard Vernon. Sir John Falstaff. Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of York. Poins. Gadshill Peto. Bardolph.
Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer. Mistress Quickly, hostess of the Boar's Head in Eastcheap.
Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two

     Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.
SCENE.--England and Wales.
ACT I. Scene I. London. The Palace.
Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, [Sir Walter Blunt,] with others.
King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,

     Find we a time for frighted peace to pant

     And breathe short-winded accents of new broils

     To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.

     No more the thirsty entrance of this soil

     Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood.

     No more shall trenching war channel her fields,

     Nor Bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs

     Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes

     Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,

     All of one nature, of one substance bred,

     Did lately meet in the intestine shock

     And furious close of civil butchery,

     Shall now in mutual well-beseeming ranks

     March all one way and be no more oppos'd

     Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.

     The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,

     No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,

     As far as to the sepulchre of Christ-

     Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross

     We are impressed and engag'd to fight-

     Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,

     Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb

     To chase these pagans in those holy fields

     Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet

     Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd

     For our advantage on the bitter cross.

     But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,

     And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go.

     Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear

     Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,

     What yesternight our Council did decree

     In forwarding this dear expedience. West. My liege, this haste was hot in question

     And many limits of the charge set down

     But yesternight; when all athwart there came

     A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;

     Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer,

     Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight

     Against the irregular and wild Glendower,

     Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,

     A thousand of his people butchered;

     Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,

     Such beastly shameless transformation,

     By those Welshwomen done as may not be

     Without much shame retold or spoken of. King. It seems then that the tidings of this broil

     Brake off our business for the Holy Land. West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord;

     For more uneven and unwelcome news

     Came from the North, and thus it did import:

     On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there,

     Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,

     That ever-valiant and approved Scot,

     At Holmedon met,

     Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;

     As by discharge of their artillery

     And shape of likelihood the news was told;

     For he that brought them, in the very heat

     And pride of their contention did take horse,

     Uncertain of the issue any way. King. Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend,

     Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,

     Stain'd with the variation of each soil

     Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,

     And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.

     The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;

     Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,

     Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see

     On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took

     Mordake Earl of Fife and eldest son

     To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,

     Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.

     And is not this an honourable spoil?

     A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not? West. In faith,

     It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin

     In envy that my Lord Northumberland

     Should be the father to so blest a son-

     A son who is the theme of honour's tongue,

     Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;

     Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride;

     Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,

     See riot and dishonour stain the brow

     Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd

     That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd

     In cradle clothes our children where they lay,

     And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!

     Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.

     But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,

     Of this young Percy's pride? The prisoners

     Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd

     To his own use he keeps, and sends me word

     I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. West. This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester,

     Malevolent to you In all aspects,

     Which makes him prune himself and bristle up

     The crest of youth against your dignity. King. But I have sent for him to answer this;

     And for this cause awhile we must neglect

     Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

     Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we

     Will hold at Windsor. So inform the lords;

     But come yourself with speed to us again;

     For more is to be said and to be done

     Than out of anger can be uttered. West. I will my liege. Exeunt.
Scene II. London. An apartment of the Prince's.
Enter Prince of Wales and Sir John Falstaff.
Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and

     unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after

     noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou

     wouldest truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time

     of the day, Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons,

     and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping

     houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in

     flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so

     superfluous to demand the time of the day. Fal. Indeed you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go

     by the moon And the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that

     wand'ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art

     king, as, God save thy Grace-Majesty I should say, for grace thou

     wilt have none- Prince. What, none? Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to

     an egg and butter. Prince. Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that

     are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's

     beauty. Let us be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen of the Shade,

     Minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good

     government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste

     mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal. Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of

     us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being

     governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof now: a purse

     of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night and most

     dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay by,'

     and spent with crying 'Bring in'; now ill as low an ebb as the

     foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in as high a flow as the ridge

     of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad- and is not my hostess of

     the tavern a most sweet wench? Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle- and is not

     a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy

     quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time and oft. Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and

     where it would not, I have used my credit. Fal. Yea, and so us'd it that, were it not here apparent that thou

     art heir apparent- But I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be

     gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution

     thus fubb'd as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the

     law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. Prince. No; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. Prince. Thou judgest false already. I mean, thou shalt have the

     hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman. Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour as

     well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. Prince. For obtaining of suits? Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean

     wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a lugg'd

     bear. Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor

     Ditch? Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most

     comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee

     trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew

     where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of

     the Council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir,

     but I mark'd him not; and yet he talked very wisely, but I

     regarded him not; and yet he talk'd wisely, and in the street

     too. Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and

     no man regards it. Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to

     corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal- God

     forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and

     now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of

     the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over!

     By the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain! I'll be damn'd for

     never a king's son in Christendom. Prince. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack? Fal. Zounds, where thou wilt, lad! I'll make one. An I do not, call

     me villain and baffle me. Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee- from praying to

     purse-taking. Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a man to

     labour in his vocation.


     Enter Poins.


     Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men

     were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for

     him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried 'Stand!'

     to a true man. Prince. Good morrow, Ned. Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What

     says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee

     about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a

     cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg? Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his

     bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give

     the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the devil. Prince. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the devil. Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock

     early, at Gadshill! There are pilgrims gong to Canterbury with

     rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I

     have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves.

     Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester. I have bespoke supper

     to-morrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. If

     you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will

     not, tarry at home and be hang'd! Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you

     for going. Poins. You will, chops? Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? Prince. Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith. Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee,

     nor thou cam'st not of the blood royal if thou darest not stand

     for ten shillings. Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. Fal. Why, that's well said. Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. Prince. I care not. Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will

     lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go. Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the ears

     of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and what he hears

     may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake)

     prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want

     countenance. Farewell; you shall find me in Eastcheap. Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer!

     Exit Falstaff. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow. I

     have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff,

     Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have

     already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when they

     have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off

     from my shoulders. Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth? Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint them

     a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and

     then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they

     shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by

     our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see- I'll tie them in the

     wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and,

     sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our

     noted outward garments. Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us. Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred

     cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight

     longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of

     this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same fat

     rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least,

     he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he

     endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest. Prince. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary

     and meet me to-night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord. Exit. Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold

     The unyok'd humour of your idleness.

     Yet herein will I imitate the sun,

     Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

     To smother up his beauty from the world,

     That, when he please again to lie himself,

     Being wanted, he may be more wond'red at

     By breaking through the foul and ugly mists

     Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.

     If all the year were playing holidays,

     To sport would be as tedious as to work;

     But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,

     And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.

     So, when this loose behaviour I throw off

     And pay the debt I never promised,

     By how much better than my word I am,

     By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;

     And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,

     My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,

     Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes

     Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

     I'll so offend to make offence a skill,

     Redeeming time when men think least I will. Exit.
Scene III. London. The Palace.
Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, with others.
King. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,

     Unapt to stir at these indignities,

     And you have found me, for accordingly

     You tread upon my patience; but be sure

     I will from henceforth rather be myself,

     Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition,

     Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,

     And therefore lost that title of respect

     Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves

     The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it-

     And that same greatness too which our own hands

     Have holp to make so portly. North. My lord- King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see

     Danger and disobedience in thine eye.

     O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,

     And majesty might never yet endure

     The moody frontier of a servant brow.

     Tou have good leave to leave us. When we need

     'Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

     Exit Worcester.

     You were about to speak. North. Yea, my good lord.

     Those prisoners in your Highness' name demanded

     Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,

     Were, as he says, not with such strength denied

     As is delivered to your Majesty.

     Either envy, therefore, or misprision

     Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.

     But I remember, when the fight was done,

     When I was dry with rage and extreme toll,

     Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,

     Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress'd,

     Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd

     Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home.

     He was perfumed like a milliner,

     And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held

     A pouncet box, which ever and anon

     He gave his nose, and took't away again;

     Who therewith angry, when it next came there,

     Took it in snuff; and still he smil'd and talk'd;

     And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,

     He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,

     To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse

     Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

     With many holiday and lady terms

     He questioned me, amongst the rest demanded

     My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.

     I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,

     To be so pest'red with a popingay,

     Out of my grief and my impatience

     Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what-

     He should, or he should not; for he made me mad

     To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,

     And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman

     Of guns and drums and wounds- God save the mark!-

     And telling me the sovereignest thing on earth

     Was parmacity for an inward bruise;

     And that it was great pity, so it was,

     This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd

     Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,

     Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd

     So cowardly; and but for these vile 'guns,

     He would himself have been a soldier.

     This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,

     I answered indirectly, as I said,

     And I beseech you, let not his report

     Come current for an accusation

     Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my lord,

     Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said

     To such a person, and in such a place,

     At such a time, with all the rest retold,

     May reasonably die, and never rise

     To do him wrong, or any way impeach

     What then he said, so he unsay it now. King. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,

     But with proviso and exception,

     That we at our own charge shall ransom straight

     His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;

     Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd

     The lives of those that he did lead to fight

     Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower,

     Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March

     Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,

     Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?

     Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears

     When they have lost and forfeited themselves?

     No, on the barren mountains let him starve!

     For I shall never hold that man my friend

     Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost

     To ransom home revolted Mortimer. Hot. Revolted Mortimer?

     He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,

     But by the chance of war. To prove that true

     Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,

     Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took

     When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,

     In single opposition hand to hand,

     He did confound the best part of an hour

     In changing hardiment with great Glendower.

     Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink,

     Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;

     Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,

     Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds

     And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,

     Bloodstained with these valiant cohabitants.

     Never did base and rotten policy

     Colour her working with such deadly wounds;

     Nor never could the noble Mortimer

     Receive so many, and all willingly.

     Then let not him be slandered with revolt. King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him!

     He never did encounter with Glendower.

     I tell thee

     He durst as well have met the devil alone

     As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

     Art thou not asham'd? But, sirrah, henceforth

     Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.

     Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,

     Or you shall hear in such a kind from me

     As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,

     We license your departure with your son.-

     Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.

     Exeunt King, [Blunt, and Train] Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them,

     I will not send them. I will after straight

     And tell him so; for I will else my heart,

     Albeit I make a hazard of my head. North. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.

     Here comes your uncle.


     Enter Worcester.
Hot. Speak of Mortimer?

     Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul

     Want mercy if I do not join with him!

     Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,

     And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,

     But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer

     As high in the air as this unthankful king,

     As this ingrate and cank'red Bolingbroke. North. Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad. Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone? Hot. He will (forsooth) have all my prisoners;

     And when I urg'd the ransom once again

     Of my wive's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,

     And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,

     Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. Wor. I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim'd

     By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? North. He was; I heard the proclamation.

     And then it was when the unhappy King

     (Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth

     Upon his Irish expedition;

     From whence he intercepted did return

     To be depos'd, and shortly murdered. Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth

     Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of. Hot. But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then

     Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer

     Heir to the crown? North. He did; myself did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,

     That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve.

     But shall it be that you, that set the crown

     Upon the head of this forgetful man,

     And for his sake wear the detested blot

     Of murtherous subornation- shall it be

     That you a world of curses undergo,

     Being the agents or base second means,

     The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?

     O, pardon me that I descend so low

     To show the line and the predicament

     Wherein you range under this subtile king!

     Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,

     Or fill up chronicles in time to come,

     That men of your nobility and power

     Did gage them both in an unjust behalf

     (As both of you, God pardon it! have done)

     To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,

     And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?

     And shall it in more shame be further spoken

     That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off

     By him for whom these shames ye underwent?

     No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem

     Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves

     Into the good thoughts of the world again;

     Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt

     Of this proud king, who studies day and night

     To answer all the debt he owes to you

     Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.

     Therefore I say- Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more;

     And now, I will unclasp a secret book,

     And to your quick-conceiving discontents

     I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,

     As full of peril and adventurous spirit

     As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud

     On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. Hot. If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim!

     Send danger from the east unto the west,

     So honour cross it from the north to south,

     And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs

     To rouse a lion than to start a hare! North. Imagination of some great exploit

     Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap

     To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon,

     Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

     Where fadom line could never touch the ground,

     And pluck up drowned honour by the locks,

     So he that doth redeem her thence might wear

     Without corrival all her dignities;

     But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here,

     But not the form of what he should attend.

     Good cousin, give me audience for a while. Hot. I cry you mercy. Wor. Those same noble Scots

     That are your prisoners- Hot. I'll keep them all.

     By God, he shall not have a Scot of them!

     No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not.

     I'll keep them, by this hand! Wor. You start away.

     And lend no ear unto my purposes.

     Those prisoners you shall keep. Hot. Nay, I will! That is flat!

     He said he would not ransom Mortimer,

     Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,

     But I will find him when he lies asleep,

     And in his ear I'll holloa 'Mortimer.'

     Nay;

     I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak

     Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him

     To keep his anger still in motion. Wor. Hear you, cousin, a word. Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy

     Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke;

     And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales-

     But that I think his father loves him not

     And would be glad he met with some mischance,

     I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale. Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you

     When you are better temper'd to attend. North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool

     Art thou to break into this woman's mood,

     Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods,

     Nettled, and stung with pismires when I hear

     Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.

     In Richard's time- what do you call the place-

     A plague upon it! it is in GIoucestershire-

     'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept-

     His uncle York- where I first bow'd my knee

     Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke-

     'S blood!

     When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh- North. At Berkeley Castle. Hot. You say true.

     Why, what a candy deal of courtesy

     This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!

     Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,'

     And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin'-

     O, the devil take such cozeners!- God forgive me!

     Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again.

     We will stay your leisure. Hot. I have done, i' faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.

     Deliver them up without their ransom straight,

     And make the Douglas' son your only mean

     For powers In Scotland; which, for divers reasons

     Which I shall send you written, be assur'd

     Will easily be granted. [To Northumberland] You, my lord,

     Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,

     Shall secretly into the bosom creep

     Of that same noble prelate well-belov'd,

     The Archbishop. Hot. Of York, is it not? Wor. True; who bears hard

     His brother's death at Bristow, the Lord Scroop.

     I speak not this in estimation,

     As what I think might be, but what I know

     Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,

     And only stays but to behold the face

     Of that occasion that shall bring it on. Hot. I smell it. Upon my life, it will do well. North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'st slip. Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot.

     And then the power of Scotland and of York

     To join with Mortimer, ha? Wor. And so they shall. Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,

     To save our heads by raising of a head;

     For, bear ourselves as even as we can,

     The King will always think him in our debt,

     And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,

     Till he hath found a time to pay us home.

     And see already how he doth begin

    

... ... ...
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