As will displease you.-My lord Northumberland, [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause Here comes your uncle. Hot. Re-enter WORCESTER. Speak of Mortimer? Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. Wor. I cannot blame him: Was he not 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; To be depos'd, and shortly murdered. From whence he, intercepted, did return Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. [mouth Hot. But, soft, I pray you: Did king Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer North. He did; myself did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd. 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 murd'rous 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 subtle 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,Το 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 advent'rous spirit, As to o'erwalk a current, roaring foud, 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, North. Imagination of some great exploit Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, Wor. That are your prisoners, Those same noble Scots, Hot. Wor. You start away, And lend no ear unto my purposes. Hot. I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Wor. Cousin; a word. Hear you, Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, B 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'd have him poison'd 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 In Richard's time,-What do you call the place ?—— Hot. You say true: Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again; We'll 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 -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 belov'd, Hot. Of York, is't not? Wor. True; who bears hard His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. As what I think might be, but what I know Of that occasion that shall bring it on. Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well. North. Before the game's a-foot, 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. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him. To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, 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! [Exeunt. |