Hot. Revolted Mortimer!

He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,

But by the chance of war: to prove that true,
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
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 hid his 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. 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 thou not asham'd? 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.

[Exeunt King HENRY, BLUNT, and Train.

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,
Albeit I make a hazard of my head.

North. What! drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile : Here comes your uncle.

Hot.

Re-enter Worcester.

Speak of Mortimer!

'Zounds! 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. Brother, [To WORCESTER.] 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 God pardon!) did set forth

Upon his Irish expedition;

From whence he intercepted did return

To be depos'd, and shortly murdered.

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

Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of.

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 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 murd❜rous subornation, shall it be,
That you a world of curses undergo,
Being the agents, or base second means,
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 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, God pardon it! have done) —
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
And shall it, in more shame, be farther 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.
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.
Hot. If he fall in, good night!
Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honour cross it, from the north to south,

Peace, cousin! say no more.

or sink or swim,

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.

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.

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.

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:
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales,

But that I think his father loves him not,

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

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 no 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 ye call the place?
A plague upon 't—it is in Gloucestershire;
'T was 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,,

'Sblood! 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,

And,

"when his infant fortune came to age,"

"gentle Harry Percy," and, "kind cousin," O, the devil take such cozeners! — God forgive me!

Good uncle, tell your tale: 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,

[TO NORTHUMBERLAND.

Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall secretly into the bosom creep