Although it be with hazard of my head. North. What, drunk with choler? ftay and pause a while; Here comes your uncle. Enter Worcefter. Hot. Speak of Mortimer ? my Yes, I will speak of him, and let North, Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad. [To Worcester 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 fhortly murthered. Wor. And for whofe death, we in the world's wide mouth Live fcandaliz'd, and foully fpoken of. Hot. But foft, I pray you; did King Richard then Proclaim my brother Mortimer as lawful Heir to the crown? North. He did; my self did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his coufin King, B 3 Tha That you a world of curfes undergo, Wor. Peace, coufin, fay no more. Hot. If we fall in, good night, or fink or fwims So Honour cross it from the north to fouth; North. Imagination of fome great exploit Hot. By heav'n, methinks it were an eafie leap, To pluck bright honqur from the pale-fac'd Moor; Or Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fadom-line could never touch the ground, But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, Wor. Those fame noble Scots That are your prifoners Hot. I'll keep them all. By heav'n, he fhall not have a Scot of them: Wor. You ftart away, And lend no ear unto my purposes. He faid he would not ranfom Mortimer : Wor. Hear you, coufin: a word Hot. All ftudies here I folemnly defie, And that fame fword-and-buckler-Prince of Wales, And would be glad he met with some mischance, Wor. Farewel, my kinfman; I will talk to you 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, Nettled, and ftung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician Bolingbroke: In Richard's time what do ye call the place? A plague upon't it is in Glo'fter fhire His uncle York where I first bow'd my knee 'Twas where the mad-cap Duke his uncle kept Unto this King of fmiles, this Bolingbroke: When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. Hot. You fay true: Why, what a deal of candied courtefie This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! And gentle Harry Percy The devil take fuch cozeners and kind coufin 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 leifure. Hot. I have done, i'faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. Of that fame noble Prelate, well belov'd, Hot. 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 And only ftays but to behold the face Of that occafion that shall bring on. Hot. I fmell it on my life, it will do well. [Te North. North. Before the game's a-foot, thou still lett'ft flip. Hot. It cannot chufe but be a noble plot; And And then the power of Scotland, and of York Wor. So they fhall. Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd, To make us ftrangers to his looks of love. Where you, and Douglas, and our pow'rs at once, To bear our fortunes in our own ftrong arms, North. Farewel, good brother; we shall thrive, I trust. Hot. Uncle, adieu! O let the hours be fhort, "Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport. [Exeunt L Car. An Inn at Rochester. Enter a Carrier with a Lantborn in bis Hand. H' EIGH 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! Of 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 cafe. Enter another Carrier. 2 Car. Peafe 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 upside down, fince Robin Oftler dy'd. I Car. |