Enter WORCESTER. Hot. Speak of Mortimer! Yes, I will speak of him; and let my soul As high i' the air as this unthankful king, 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 wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale; Wor. I cannot blame him; was he not proclaim'd, From whence-he, intercepted, did return To be depos'd, and, shortly, murdered. 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't, 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, Heaven pardon it! have done,) To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, Even with the bloody payment of your deaths :- 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'er-walk 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 ;-Oh! 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 fathom-line could never touch the ground, 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 Heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them; Wor. You start away, And lend no ear unto my purposes.- Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat : He said, he would not ransom Mortimer; Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, 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! Look," when his infant fortune came to age,” sin," And," gentle Harry Percy,"-and, “kind cou O, the devil take such cozeners! me! -Heaven forgive Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. We'll stay your leisure. Hot. I have done, i'faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.— 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 Is ruminated, plotted, and set down; And only stays but to behold the face Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well. slip. Hot. Why, it cannot chuse 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. And think we think ourselves unsatisfy'd, To make us strangers to his looks of love. Hot. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him. Wor. Cousin, farewell:-no further go in this, Than I by letters shall direct your course. 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. ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. An Inn Yard at Rochester. Enter a CARRIER, with a Lantern in his Hand. 1 Car. Heigho! An't be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not pack'd. What, Ostler! Ost. [Within.] Anon, anon. 1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess. Enter another CARRIER. 2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, |