Whose wrongs in us God pa don!-did set forth Upon his Irish expedition;

From whence he intercepted did return

To be deposed and shortly murdered.

15C

Wor. And for whose death we in the world's

wide mouth

Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

Hot. But, soft, I pray you; did King Richard

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve.
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 murderous subornation,

That you a world of curses undergo,

Being the agents, or base second means,

160

shall it be

165

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
chronicles in time to come,
That men of your nobility and power

up

Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,

As both of you-God pardon it! - have done,
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,

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175

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 adventurous spirit
As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

180

185

190

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
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

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

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200

Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap

To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced 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-faced 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.
I cry you mercy.

Hot.
Wor.

Those same noble Scots

I'll keep them all;

By God, 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.

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210

215

Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat. He said he would not ransom Mortimer, Forbad 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. Hear you, cousin; a word.

Hot.

All studies here I solemnly defy, Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke;

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295

231

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 would have him poison'd with a pot of ale.
Wor. Farewell, kinsman; I'll talk to you
When you are better temper'd to attend.

235

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 scourged 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 it! it is in Gloucestershire;

'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept,

His uncle York

240

where I first bow'd my knee 245

Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,

'Sblood!

When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh? North. At Berkeley castle.

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 cousin,'

250

O, the devil take such cozeners! - God forgive

Good uncle, tell your tale; I have done.

255

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again; We will stay your leisure.

Hot.

I have done, i' faith.

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. Deliver them up without their ransom straight, 200 And make the Douglas' son your only mean

For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons Which I shall send you written, be assured,

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 beloved,
The archbishop.

Wor. True; who bears hard

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Hot. Of York, is it not?

270

His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.

As what I think might be, but what I know

I speak not this in estimation,

Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,

And only stays but to behold the face

Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

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Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well. North. Before the game is 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?

280

Wor.

And so they shall.