Imatges de pàgina
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Wor. Peace, Coufin, fay no more.
And now I will unclafp a fecret book,
And to your quick-conceiving difcontents
I'll read you matter, deep and dangerous;
As full of peril and advent'rous spirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud,
On the unfteadfaft footing of a fpear.

Hot. If he fall in, good night. Or fink or swim,
Send Danger from the eaft unto the west,

So Honour cross it from the north to fouth;
And let them grapple.

O! the blood more ftirs

To rouze a Lion, than to ftart a Hare.

North. Imagination of fome great exploit Drives him beyond, the bounds of patience.

Hot. By heav'n, methinks, it were an eafy leap,
To pluck bright Honour from the pale-fac'd 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-fac'd fellowship!

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, But not the form of what he fhould attend. Good Coufin, give me audience for a while, Hot. I cry you mercy.

Wor. Thofe fame noble Scots,

That are your prifoners

Hot. I'll keep them all.

By heav'n, he shall not have a Scot of them:
No, if a Scot would fave his foul, he shall not;

I'll keep them, by this hand.

Wor. You ftart away,

And lend no ear unto my purposes;

Those prisoners you fhall keep.

Hot. I will; that's flat:

He faid, he would not ranfom Mortimer :

Forbad my tongue to fpeak of Mortimer:

But

But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his car I'll holla, Mortimer!
Nay, I will have a Starling taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger ftill in motion.
Wor. Hear you, coufin, a word.

Hot. All Studies here I folemnly defy,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:
And that fame fword-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 poifon'd with a pot of ale.

Wor. Farewel, my kinfman; I will talk to you, When you are better temper'd to attend.

North. Why, what a wafp-tongu'd 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 whipt and scourg'd
with rods,

Nettled, and ftung with pifmires, when I hear
Of this vile politician Bolingbroke:

In Richard's time-what do you call the place ?-
A plague upon't!it is in Glo'ftershire-
'Twas where the mad-cap Duke his uncle kept-
His uncle York-where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this King of Smiles, this Bolingbroke:
When you and he came back from Ravenfpurg.
North. At Berkley castle,

Hot. You fay true:

Why, what a deal of candied Courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me !
Look, when his infant fortune came to age,

--

And gentle Harry Percyand kind coufin
The Devil take fuch couzeners- -God forgive me-
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again.

We'll ftay your leisure.

Hot.

Hot. I have done, i'faith.

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
[To Hot-fpur.
Deliver them without their ransom straight,
And make the Dowglas' Son your only mean
For Pow'rs in Scotland; which, for divers reafons
Which I fhall send you written, be affur'd,
Will eafily be granted.-You, my lord. [To North.
Your Son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall fecretly into the bofom creep

Of that fame noble Prelate, well belov'd,
Th' Arch-bishop.

Hot. York, is't not?

Wor. True, who bears hard

His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop.
I fpeak not this in eftimation,

As what, I think, might be; but what, I know,
Is ruminated, plotted and fet down;

And only stays but to behold the face

Of that occafion, that shall bring it on.

Hot. I fmell it on my life, it will do well, North. Before the game's a-foot, thou ftill lett'ft flip. Hot. It cannot chufe but be a noble Plot; And then the power of Sotland, and of York To join with Mortimer; ha!

Wor. So they fhall.

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.
Wor. And 'tis no little reafon bids us fpeed
To fave 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 deem ourselves unfatisfy'd,
Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And fee already, how he doth begin
To make us ftrangers to his looks of love.

Hot. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him.
Wor. Coufin, farewel. No further go in this,

Than I by letters fhall direct your course;

When

When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,
I'll fteal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer,
Where you and Dowglas, and our Pow'rs at once,
(As I will fafhon it) fhall happily meet,

To bear our fortunes in our own ftrong arms, Which now we hold at much uncertainty. [truft. North. Farewel, good brother; we shall thrive, I Hot. Uncle, adieu: O let the hours be short, 'Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport! [Exeunt.

АСТ II.

SCENE I.

An Inn at Rochester.

Enter a Carrier with a Lanthorn in his Hand.

I CARRIER.

HEIGH ho! an't be not four by the day, I'll be

hang'd. Charles' wain is over the new chimney,

and yet our horfe not packt. What, oftler? Oft. [within.] Anon, anon.

1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cutt's faddle, put a few flocks in the point: the poor jade is wrung in the withers, out of all cefs.

Enter another Carrier.

2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this house is turn'd upfide down, fince Robin Oftler dy'd.

1 Car. Poor fellow never joy'd fince the price of oats rofe, it was the death of him.

2 Gar. I think, this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas : I am ftung like a Tench. 1 Car. Like a Tench? by th' Mass, there's ne'er a

King in Christendom could be better bit than I have been fince the firft cock.

2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jourdan, and then we leak in your chimney: and your chamber-lie breds fleas like a Loach.

1 Car. What, oftler, come away, and be hang'd, come away.

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger to be deliver'd as far as Charing-crofs.

1 Car. 'Odfbody, the Turkies in my panniers are quite ftarv'd. What, oftler? a plague on thee! haft thou never an eye in thy head? canft not hear? an 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain. Come and be hang'd, haft no faith in thee?

Enter Gads-hill.

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

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lanthorn, to fee my gelding in the stable.

I Car. Nay, foft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that, i'faith.

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine.

2 Car. Ay, when? canft tell? lend me thy lanthorn, quoth a! marry, I'll fee thee hang'd firft. Gads. Sirrah, carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a Candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour Mugges, we'll call up the gentlemen; they will along with Company, for they have great Charge. [Exeunt Carriers.

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Enter Chamberlain.

Gads. WCham. At hand, quoth pick-purse.

7HAT, ho, chamberlain !

Gads.

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