Henry IV, Part 1 (Folio 1 1623)
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¶
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
1520
Enter Hotspurre, Worcester, Lord Mortimer,
¶
Owen Glendower.
¶Mort. These promises are faire, the parties sure,
¶And our induction full of prosperous hope.
1525Will you sit downe?
¶And Vnckle Worcester; a plague vpon it,
¶I haue forgot the Mappe.
¶Glend. No, here it is:
¶He wisheth you in Heauen.
¶Hotsp. And you in Hell, as oft as he heares Owen Glen-
¶dower spoke of.
1535Glend. I cannot blame him: At my Natiuitie,
¶The front of Heauen was full of fierie shapes,
¶The frame and foundation of the Earth
¶Shak'd like a Coward.
1540Hotsp. Why so it would haue done at the same season,
¶if your Mothers Cat had but kitten'd, though your selfe
¶had neuer beene borne.
¶Glend. The Heauens were all on fire, the Earth did
¶tremble.
¶Hotsp. Oh, then the Earth shooke
¶To see the Heauens on fire,
1550And not in feare of your Natiuitie.
¶In strange eruptions; and the teeming Earth
¶Is with a kinde of Collick pincht and vext,
¶By the imprisoning of vnruly Winde
1555Within her Wombe: which for enlargement striuing,
¶Shakes the old Beldame Earth, and tombles downe
¶Our Grandam Earth, hauing this distemperature,
¶To tell you once againe, that at my Birth
¶The front of Heauen was full of fierie shapes,
¶The Goates ranne from the Mountaines, and the Heards
1565Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields:
¶I am not in the Roll of common men.
¶Where is the Liuing, clipt in with the Sea,
1570That chides the Bankes of England, Scotland, and Wales,
¶Which calls me Pupill, or hath read to me?
¶And bring him out, that is but Womans Sonne,
¶Can trace me in the tedious wayes of Art,
¶And hold me pace in deepe experiments.
¶Ile to Dinner.
1580But will they come, when you doe call for them?
¶Deuill.
¶By telling truth. Tell truth, and shame the Deuill.
1585If thou haue power to rayse him, bring him hither,
¶Oh, while you liue, tell truth, and shame the Deuill.
¶Mort. Come, come, no more of this vnprofitable
¶Chat.
1590Glend. Three times hath Henry Bullingbrooke made head
¶Against my Power: thrice from the Banks of Wye,
¶And sandy-bottom'd Seuerne, haue I hent him
¶Hotsp. Home without Bootes,
1595And in foule Weather too,
¶How scapes he Agues in the Deuils name?
¶Glend. Come, heere's the Mappe:
¶Shall wee diuide our Right,
¶According to our three-fold order ta'ne?
1600Mort. The Arch-Deacon hath diuided it
¶Into three Limits, very equally:
¶England, from Trent, and Seuerne. hitherto,
1605And all the fertile Land within that bound,
¶To Owen Glendower: And deare Couze, to you
¶The remnant Northward, lying off from Trent.
¶And our Indentures Tripartite are drawne:
¶Which being sealed enterchangeably,
¶To morrow, Cousin Percy, you and I,
¶To meete your Father, and the Scottish Power,
¶As is appointed vs at Shrewsbury.
1615My Father Glendower is not readie yet,
¶Within that space, you may haue drawne together
¶Your Tenants, Friends, and neighbouring Gentlemen.
1620And in my Conduct shall your Ladies come,
¶For there will be a World of Water shed,
¶Vpon the parting of your Wiues and you.
¶Hotsp. Me thinks my Moity, North from Burton here,
1625In quantitie equals not one of yours:
¶See, how this Riuer comes me cranking in,
¶And cuts me from the best of all my Land,
¶A huge halfe Moone, a monstrous Cantle out.
¶Ile haue the Currant in this place damn'd vp,
¶In a new Channell, faire and euenly:
¶To rob me of so rich a Bottome here.
¶And runnes me vp, with like aduantage on the other side,
¶Gelding the opposed Continent as much,
¶As on the other side it takes from you.
¶Worc. Yea, but a little Charge will trench him here,
1640And on this North side winne this Cape of Land,
¶And then he runnes straight and euen.
¶Glend. Ile not haue it alter'd.
¶Hotsp. Will not you?
¶Glend. Why, that will I.
¶Welsh.
¶For I was trayn'd vp in the English Court;
¶Where, being but young, I framed to the Harpe
¶Many an English Dittie, louely well,
¶And gaue the Tongue a helpefull Ornament;
1655A Vertue that was neuer seene in you.
¶Hotsp. Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart,
¶I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew,
¶I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd,
1660Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree,
¶And that would set my teeth nothing an edge,
¶Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie;
¶'Tis like the forc't gate of a shuffling Nagge.
¶To any well-deseruing friend;
¶But in the way of Bargaine, marke ye me,
¶Ile cauill on the ninth part of a hayre.
¶Are the Indentures drawne? shall we be gone?
¶You may away by Night:
¶Ile haste the Writer; and withall,
¶Breake with your Wiues, of your departure hence:
¶I am afraid my Daughter will runne madde,
1675So much she doteth on her Mortimer.
Exit. _
¶Mort. Fie, Cousin Percy, how you crosse my Fa-
¶ther.
¶Hotsp. I cannot chuse: sometime he angers me,
¶With telling me of the Moldwarpe and the Ant,
1680Of the Dreamer Merlin, and his Prophecies;
¶A clip-wing'd Griffin, and a moulten Rauen,
¶A couching Lyon, and a ramping Cat,
¶And such a deale of skimble-skamble Stuffe,
1685As puts me from my Faith. I tell you what,
¶In reckning vp the seuerall Deuils Names,
¶That were his Lacqueyes:
¶I cry'd hum, and well, goe too,
1690But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious
¶As a tyred Horse, a rayling Wife,
¶With Cheese and Garlick in a Windmill farre,
¶Then feede on Cates, and haue him talke to me,
¶Mort. In faith he was a worthy Gentleman,
¶Exceeding well read, and profited,
¶In strange Concealements:
¶Valiant as a Lyon, and wondrous affable,
1700And as bountifull, as Mynes of India.
¶Shall I tell you, Cousin,
¶He holds your temper in a high respect,
1705I warrant you, that man is not aliue,
¶Might so haue tempted him, as you haue done,
¶Without the taste of danger, and reproofe:
¶But doe not vse it oft, let me entreat you.
¶Worc. In faith, my Lord, you are too wilfull blame,
1710And since your comming hither, haue done enough,
¶To put him quite besides his patience.
¶You must needes learne, Lord, to amend this fault:
¶And that's the dearest grace it renders you;
¶Defect of Manners, want of Gouernment,
¶The least of which, haunting a Nobleman,
1720Vpon the beautie of all parts besides,
¶Beguiling them of commendation.
¶Good-manners be your speede;
¶Heere come your Wiues, and let vs take our leaue.
1725
Enter Glendower, with the Ladies.
¶Shee'le be a Souldier too, shee'le to the Warres.
¶Shall follow in your Conduct speedily.
¶
Glendower speakes to her in Welsh, and she an-
¶
sweres him in the same.
Glend. Shee is desperate heere:
¶
The Lady speakes in Welsh.
Mort. I vnderstand thy Lookes: that pretty Welsh
1740I am too perfect in: and but for shame,
¶
The Lady againe in Welsh.
Mort. I vnderstand thy Kisses, and thou mine,
¶And that's a feeling disputation:
1745But I will neuer be a Truant, Loue,
¶Till I haue learn'd thy Language: for thy tongue
¶Sung by a faire Queene in a Summers Bowre,
¶
The Lady speakes againe in Welsh.
Mort. O, I am Ignorance it selfe in this.
¶Glend. She bids you,
¶On the wanton Rushes lay you downe,
1755And rest your gentle Head vpon her Lappe,
¶And on your Eye-lids Crowne the God of Sleepe,
¶Making such difference betwixt Wake and Sleepe,
1760As is the difference betwixt Day and Night,
¶The houre before the Heauenly Harneis'd Teeme
¶By that time will our Booke, I thinke, be drawne.
¶Hang in the Ayre a thousand Leagues from thence;
¶Hotsp. Come Kate, thou art perfect in lying downe:
1770Come, quicke, quicke, that I may lay my Head in thy
¶Lappe.
¶
The Musicke playes.
1775And 'tis no maruell he is so humorous:
¶Byrlady hee's a good Musitian.
¶For you are altogether gouerned by humors:
1780Hotsp. I had rather heare (Lady) my Brach howle in
¶Irish.
¶Hotsp. No.
1785Hotsp. Neyther, 'tis a Womans fault.
¶Lady. Now God helpe thee.
¶Lady. What's that?
1790
Heere the Lady sings a Welsh Song.
¶Hotsp. Come, Ile haue your Song too.
¶Hotsp. Not yours, in good sooth?
¶You sweare like a Comfit-makers Wife:
1795Not you, in good sooth; and, as true as I liue;
¶Sweare me, Kate, like a Lady, as thou art,
1800A good mouth-filling Oath: and leaue in sooth,
¶To Veluet-Guards, and Sunday-Citizens.
¶Come, sing.
1805Hotsp. 'Tis the next way to turne Taylor, or be Red-
¶brest teacher: and the Indentures be drawne, Ile away
¶will.
Exit. _
¶Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slow,
1810As hot Lord Percy is on fire to goe.
¶By this our Booke is drawne: wee'le but seale,
¶And then to Horse immediately.
