And gave the tongue a helpful ornament;

A virtue that was never feen in you.

Hot. Marry, I'm glad of it with all my heart."
I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew,
Than one of these fame meeter-ballad-mongers;
l'ad rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree,
And that would nothing fet my teeth on edge,
Nothing fo much as mincing poetry;
'Tis like the forc'd gate of a fhuffling nag.
Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.
Hot. I do not care; I'll give thrice fo much land
As that to any well-deferving friend;

But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,

I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.

Are the indentures drawn? fhall we be gone?

Glend. The moon fhines fair, you may away by night;

*

I will go hafte the writer, and withal

Break with your wives of your departure hence:
I am afraid my daughter will run mad,

So much the doteth on her Mortimer.

SCENE II.

my

[Exit.

father!

Mort. Fie, coufin Percy, how you crofs
Hot. I cannot chufe; fometime he angers me,
With telling of the Moldwarp and the Ant,
Of dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies;
And of a Dragon, and a finless fish,

A clipt-wing'd Griffin, and a moulting Raven,
A couching Lion, and a ramping Cat;
And fuch a deal of fkimble-fkamble stuff,
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,
He held me the laft night at least nine hours,
In reck'ning up the feveral devils names,
That were his lackeys: I cry'd bum, and zvell,
But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious,
As a tir'd horse, or as a railing wife;

He means the writer of the articles.

This alludes to an old prophecy which is faid to have induced Owen Glendower to take arms against K, Henry. See Hall's Chron. fel. 20.

Worfe

Worfe than a fmoaky house, l'ad rather live
With cheese and garlick in a windmill far,
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me,
In any fummer-houfe in Chriftendom.

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
Exceedingly well read, and profited

In ftrange concealments; valiant as a Lion;
And wond'rous affable; as bountiful

As mines of India: fhall I tell you, cousin?
He holds your temper in a high respect,
And curbs himself, even of his natural scope,
When you do cross his humour; 'faith, he does.
I warrant you, that man is not alive

Might fo have tempted him as you have done,
Without the tafte of danger and reproof.

But do not use it oft, let me intreat you.

Wor. In faith, my Lord, you are too wilful-blame, And fince your coming here have done enough

To put him quite befides his patience :

You must needs learn, Lord, to amend this fault;
Though fometimes it fhews greatnefs, courage, blood,
(And that's the deareft grace it renders you ;)
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
Defect of manners, want of government,
Pride, haughtinefs, opinion, and difdain:
The leaft of which, haunting a nobleman,
Lofeth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts befides,
Beguiling them of commendation.

Hot. Well, I am school'd: good manners be your speed! Here come our wives, and let us take our leave,

SCENE III.

Enter Glendower, with the Ladies.

Mort. This is the deadly fpight that angers me, My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

Glend. My daughter weeps, fhe will not part with you, She'll be a foldier too, fhe'll to the wars.

Mort. Good father, tell her, fhe and my aunt Percy Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

[Glendower peaks to her in Welsh, and fhe answers bim in the fame.

Glend

Glend. She's defp'rate here: a peevish felf-will'd harlotry, That no perfuafion can do good upon.

[The Lady Speaks in Welsh. Mort. I understand thy looks; that pretty Welsh, Which thou pour'ft down from those two fwelling heav'ns, I am too perfect in: and but for fhame,

In fuch a parly should I answer thee.

- [The Lady again in Welsh;

Mort. I understand thy kiffes, and thou mine, And that's a feeling difputation:

But I will never be a truant, love,

'Till I have learn'd thy language: for thy tongue Makes Welb as fweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair Queen in a fummer's bower,

With ravishing divifion to her lute.

Glend. Nay, an if thou melt, then will she run mad.

[The Lady Speaks again in Wellhe

Mort. O, I am ignorance it felf in this.
Glend. She bids you,

All on the wanton rushes lay you down,
And reft your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will fing the fong that pleaseth you,
And on your eye-lids crown the God of fleep,
Charming your blood with pleafing heaviness;
Making fuch diff'rence betwixt wake and fleep,
As is the diff'rence betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heav'nly-harness'd team
Begins his golden progrefs in the east,

Mort. With all my heart I'll fit, and hear her fing:
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.

Glend. Do fo;

And tho' th' muficians that shall play to you,

Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence;
Yet ftrait they shall be here: fit, and attend.

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

L. Percy. Go, ye giddy goofe. [The mufick plays. Hot. Now I perceive the devil underftands Welb, and 'tis no marvel he is fo humorous, by'rlady he's a good musician.

L, Percy,

L. Percy. Then would you be nothing but mufical, for you are altogether govern'd by humours: lye ftill, ye thief, and hear the Lady fing in Welsh.

Hot. I had rather hear Lady my brach howl in Irish.
L. Percy. Would'ft have thy head broken?
Hot. No.

L. Percy. Then be ftill.

Hot. Neither, 'tis a woman's fault.

L. Percy. Now God help thee!
Hot. To the Welsh Lady's bed.
L. Percy. What's that?

Hot. Peace, fhe fings. [Here the Lady fings a Welsh fong. Come, I'll have your fong too.

L. Percy. Not mine, in good footh.

Hot. Not yours, in good footh! you fwear like a comfit-maker's wife; not you, in good footb; and, as true as I love; and, as God fhall mend me; and, as fure as day: and giveft fuch farcenet furety for thy oaths, as if thou never walk'dft further than Finsbury.

Swear me, Kate, like a Lady, as thou art,
A good mouth-filling oath, and leave infooth,
And fuch protefts of pepper-ginger-bread,
To velvet-guards, and Sunday-citizens.
Come, fing.

L. Percy, I will not fing.

Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be Robin-RedBreaft-teacher: if the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours: and fo come in, when ye will.

[Exit. Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as flow, As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

By this, our book is drawn: we will but feal,
And then to horfe immediately.

Mort. With all my heart.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. WINDSOR.
Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, Lords and others,
K. Henry. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have fome private conference: but be near,

For we shall presently have need of you.-
I know not whether God will have it fo,

[Exe. Lords.

For

For fome difpleafing fervice I have done;
That, in his fecret doom, out of my blood
He breeds revengement and a scourge for me:
But thou doft in thy paffages of life

Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heav'n,
To punish my mif-treadings. Tell me, elfe
Could fuch inordinate and low defires,

Such poor, fuch bafe, fuch lewd, fuch mean attaints,
Such barren pleasures, rude fociety,

As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,
Accompany the greatnefs of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?
P. Henry. So please your Majefty, I wish I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse,
As well, as I am doubtless I can purge
My felf of many I am charg'd withal.
Yet fuch extenuation let me beg,
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,

Which oft the ear of Greatness needs must hear,
By smiling pick-thanks and bafe news-mongers;
I may for fome things true (wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd, and irregular)

Find pardon, on my true fubmiffion.

K. Henry. Heav'n pardon thee! yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors,
Thy place in council thou haft rudely loft,
Which by thy younger brother is fupply'd;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the Court and Princes of my blood.
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd, and the foul of every man
Prophetically does fore-think thy fall.
Had I fo lavish of my prefence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So ftale and cheap to vulgar company;
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had ftill kept loyal to poffeffion,
And left me in reputelefs banishment,

Α