Those mouthed wounds, which, valiantly, he took,
When, on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
In single opposition, hand to hand,
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower :
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they

drink,
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And bid ber crisp head in the hollow bank
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
Never did base and rotten policy
Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly:
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt.
K. Hen. (Rises.] Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou

dost belie him ;
He never did encounter with Glendower;
I tell thee,
He durst as well have met the devil alone,
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer:
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or
you

shall hear in such a kind from me As will displease you.—My Lord Northumberland, We license your departure with your son :Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. [Flourish of Trumpets and Drums.-Exeunt all

but NORTHUMBERLAND and HOTSPUR. Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them :- I will after straight, And tell him so; for I will ease my heart, Although I make a hazard of my head. North. What, drunk with choler ? stay, and pause

awhile. Here comes your uncle.

Enter WORCESTER.
Hot. Speak of Mortimer !
Yes, I will speak of him; and let my

soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him:
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood, drop by drop, i’ the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high i' the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.
North. Bruther, 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;
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

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 Heaven pardon !) did set forth Upon his Irish expedition; 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, Heir to the crown ?

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 shallt, 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,
And plant this thurn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
And shall it, in more shaine, be further spoken,
That you are toolid, 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 unciasp 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 bim 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, 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 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 ;
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. Nay, I will; that's fiat :-
He said, he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbade 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. 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'nu 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
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke!
In Richard's time,-What do you call the place ?-
A plague upon't!-it is in Glostershire;-
'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 Ravenspurg.

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 cou

sin, Oh, the devil take such cozeners !Heaven forgive

me!

Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.

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, Your son in Scotland being thus employ’d, Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, The archbishop

Hot. Of York, is't not?

Wor. True; who bears hard
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's a-foot, thou still lett'st

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.

Wor. And 'tis 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;