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
foui

Yes, I will speak of him, and let
Want mercy, if I do not join with him.
In his behalf, I'll empty all thefe veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in duft,
But I will lift the downfall'n Mortimer
As high i'th' Air as this unthankful King,
As this ingrate and cankred Bolingbroke.

North, Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.

[To Worcester
Wor. Who ftrook this heat up after I was gone?!
Hot. He will, forfooth, have all my prifoners:
And when I urg'd the ranfom 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 ev'n 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 God pardon) did fet forth
Upon his Irish expedition;

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,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains ftarv'd.
But fhall it be, that you that fet the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man,
And for his fake wear the detefted blot
Of murderous fubornation, fhall it be,

B 3

Tha

That you a world of curfes undergo,
Being the agents or bafe fecond means,
The cords, the ladder, or the hangmen rather,
(O pardon me, that I defcend fo low,
To fhew the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this fubtle King)
Shall it for fhame be fpoken in thefe days,
Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
That men of your nobility and power
Ingag'd them both in an unjuft behalf;
(As both of you, God pardon it, have done,)
To put down Richard, that fweet lovely rofe,
And plant this thorn, this canker Bolingbroke?
And shall it in more fhame be further spoken,
That you are fool'd, difcarded, and shook off
By him, for whom these fhames ye underwent ?.
No; yet time ferves, wherein you may redeem
Your banifh'd honours, and restore your felves
Into the good thoughts of the world again.
Revenge the jeering and difdain'd contempt
Of this proud King, who ftudies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes unto you,
Ev'n with the bloody payments of your deaths!
Therefore I fay

Wor. Peace, coufin, fay no more.
And now I will unclafp a fecret book,
And to your quick-conceiving difcontents
I'll read you matter, deep and dangerous;
As full of peril and advent'rous fpirit,
As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud,
On the unfteadfaft footing of a spear.

Hot. If we fall in, good night, or fink or fwims
Send Danger from the eaft unto the west,

So Honour cross it from the north to fouth;
And let them grapple. O! the blood more stirs
To rouze a Lion, than to start a Hare.

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

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,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks:
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
Without co-rival 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 coufin, give me audience for a while.
Hot. I cry your mercy.

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:
No, if a Scot would fave his foul, he shall got
I'll keep them, by this hand.

Wor. You ftart away,

And lend no ear unto my purposes.
Those prifoners you shall keep.
Hot. I will; that's flat:

He faid he would not ranfom Mortimer :
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer:
But I will find him when he lyes afleep,
And in his ear I'll holla, Mortimer!
Nay, I will have a Starling taught to fpeak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger ftill in motion.

Wor. Hear you, coufin: a word

Hot. All ftudies here I folemnly defie,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke:

And that fame fword-and-buckler-Prince of Wales,
But that I think his father loves him not,

And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I'd have him poifon'd with a pot of ale.

Wor. Farewel, my kinfman; I will talk to you
When you are better temper'd to attend.

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.
North. At Barkley caftle.

Hot. You fay true:

Why, what a deal of candied courtefie

This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
Look, when his infant fortune came to age,

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.
Deliver them without their ransom strait,
And make the Dowglas' fon your only mean
For pow'rs in Scotland; which for divers reafons
Which I fhall fend you written, be affur'd
Will eafily be granted: you, my Lord,
(Your fon in Scotland being thus employ'd)
Shall fecretly into the bofom creep

Of that fame noble Prelate, well belov'd,
Th' Arch-bishop.

Hot. York, is't not?

Wor. True, who bears hard

His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.
I fpeak not in this estimation,

As what I think might be, but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted and fet down,

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
To join with Mortimer; ha!

Wor. So they fhall.

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd,
Wor. And 'tis no little reafon bids us fpeed
To fave our heads, by raising of a head:
For bear our felves as even as we can,
The King will always think him in our debt,
And think we deem cur felves unfatisfy'd,
'Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And fee already, how he doth begin

To make us ftrangers to his looks of love.
Hot. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him.
Wor. Coufin, farewel. No further go in this
Than I by letters fhall direct your courfe;
When time is ripe, which will be fuddenly,
I'll fteal to Glendower, and Lord Mortimer,

Where you, and Douglas, and our pow'rs at once,
(As I will fafhion it) fhall happily meet,

To bear our fortunes in our own ftrong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

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.