Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

Where fathom-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-faced 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.

That are your prisoners,

Hot.

Those same noble Scots

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.

210

Nay, I will; that's flat:

He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll holla 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.

220

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy,

Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke :

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

230

But that I think his father loves him not
And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale.

Wor. Farewell, kinsman: I'll 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!

240

Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourged 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 Gloucestershire;
'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,—
'Sblood!-

When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh.
North. At Berkley 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; 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 assured,

250

260

Will easily be granted. You, my lord, [To Northumberland. Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,

Shall secretly into the bosom creep

Of that same noble prelate, well beloved,

The archbishop.

Hot. Of York, is it not?

Wor. True; who bears hard

270

His brother's death at Bristol, 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 't is 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

To make us strangers to his looks of love.

Hot. He does, he does: we'll be revenged on him.
Wor. Cousin, farewell: no further go in this

Than I by letters shall direct your course.
When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,
I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer;
Where you and Douglas and our powers at once,
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,

To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

280

290

North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.

Hot. Uncle, adieu: O, let the hours be short Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!

301

[Exeunt.

Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.

First Car. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler!

Ost. [Within] Anon, anon.

First Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the point; poor jade, is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

Enter another Carrier.

Sec. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.

First Car. Poor fellow, never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death of him.

12

Sec. Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench.

First Car. Like a tench! by the mass, there is ne'er a king christen could be better bit than I have been since the first cock. What, ostler! come away and be hanged! come away.

Sec. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.

20

First Car. God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved. What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An 'twere not as good deed as drink, to break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged! hast no faith in thee?

Enter GADSHILL.

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?
First Car. I think it be two o'clock.

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, glittering 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.

SCENE III. London. The palace.

190

[Exit.

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 used 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.

You have good leave to leave us : when we need

II

20

Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. [Exit Wor. You were about to speak.

[To North.