The villainous Salt-peter fhould be digg'd
Out of the Bowels of the harmless Earth,
Which many a good tall Fellow had deftroy'd
So cowardly. And but for thefe vile Guns,
He would himself have been a Soldier.
This bald, unjointed Chat of his, my Lord,
Made me to answer indirectly, as I faid,
And I beseech you, let not this Report
Come currant for an Accufation,
Betwixt my Love and your high Majefty.

Blunt. The Circumftance confider'd, good my Lord, What ever Harry Percy then had faid, To fuch a Perfon, and in fuch a Place, At fuch a Time, with all the reft retold, May reasonably die, and never rife To do him wrong, or any way impeach What then he faid, fo he unfay it now.

K. Henry. Why yet he doth deny his Prisoners,
But with Provifo and Exception,

That we at our own Charge, fhall ransom ftreight
His Brother-in-Law, the foolish Mortimer,
Who, in my Soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The Lives of thofe, that he did lead to fight,
Against the great Magician, damn'd Glendower,
Whole Daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
Hath lately marry'd. Shall our Coffers then
Be empty'd, to redeem a Traitor home?
Shall we buy Treafon? and indent with Fears,
When they have loft and forfeited themselves?
No; on the barren Mountains let him ftarve;
For I fhall never hold that Man my Friend,
Whofe Tongue fhall ask me for one Penny Coft
To ranfom home revolted Mortimer.

Hot. Revolted Mortimer?

He never did fall off, my Soveraign Liege,

But by the Chance of War; to prove that true,
Needs no more but one Tongue, for all thofe Wounds,
Thofe mouthed Wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's Sedgie Bank,

In fingle Oppofition Hand to Hand

He did confound the beft part of an Hour

In changing Hardiment with great Glendower:

Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink
Upon agreement of fwift Severn's Flood;

Who then affrighted with their bloody Looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling Reeds,
And hid his crifped Head in a hollow Bank,
Blood-ftained with these valiant Combatants.
Never did bafe, and rotten Policy

Colour her working with fuch deadly Wounds;
Nor ever could the noble Mortimer

Receive fo many, and all willingly;

Then let him not be flander'd with Revolt.

K. Henry. Thou doft belie him, Percy, thou doft belie him; He never did encounter with Glendower;

I tell thee, he durft as well have met the Devil alone,
As Owen Glendower for an Enemy.

Art thou not afham'd? But, Sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.

Send me your Prifoners with the fpeedicft Means,
Or you shall hear in fuch a kind from me

As will displease ye. My Lord Northumberland

We license your Departure with your Son.

Send us your Prifoners, or you'll hear of it. [Exit K. Henry. Hot. And if the Devil come and roar for them,

I will not fend them. I will after ftreight

And tell him fo; for I will eafe my Heart,
Although it be with hazard of my Head.

North. What, drunk with Choler? stay and paufe a while, Here comes your Uncle.

Hot. Speak of Mortimer ?

Yes, I will speak of him, and let my Soul
Want Mercy, if I do not join with him.
In his behalf, I'll empty all thofe Veins,

[Enter Worcester.

And fhed my dear Blood Drop by Drop i'th' Duft,
But I will lift the downfall'n Mortimer
As high i'th Air as this unthankful King,
As this ingrate and cankred Bullingbroke.

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

Wor.

[To Worcester.

ho ftrook this Heat up after I was gone? Hot. He will, forfooth, have all my Prisoners: And when' I urg'd the Ranfom once again

of

Of

my Wife's Brother, then his Check 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
(Whole Wrongs in us, God pardon) did fet forth
Upon his Irish Expedition;

From whence, he intercepted, did return

To be depos'd, and thortly murthered.

Wor. And for whofe Death, we in the World's wide Mouth

Live fo fcandaliz'd, and foully spoken of.

Hot. But foft, I pray you; did King Richard then
Proclaim my
Brother Mortimer

Heir to the Crown?

North. He did; my felf did hear it.

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his Coufin King,
That wifh'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 wore the detefted Blot
Of murtherous Subornations? Shall it be,
That you a World of Curfes undergo,
Being the Agents, or bafe fecond Means,
The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather?
O pardon, if that I defcend fo low,

To thew the Line, and the Predicament
Wherein you range under this fubtle King.
Shall it for Shame, be fpoken in thefe 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 fweet lovely Rofe,
And plant this Thorn, this Canker Bullingbroke?
And hall it in more Shame be further spoken,
That you are fooi'd, difcarded and fhook off
By him, for whom thefe Shames ye underwent ?
No; yet Time ferves, wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd Honours, and reftore your felves
VOL. III.

M

Into

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,
Even with the bloody Payments of your Deaths:
Therefore I fay-

Wor. Peace, Coufin, lay no more.
And now I will unclafp a fecret Book,
And to your quick conveying 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 unftedfaft footing of a Spear.

Hot. If he fall in, good Night, or fink or (wim:
Send danger from the Eaft unto the Weft,
So Honour cross it from the North to South.
And let them grapple: The Blood more ftirs
To rowze a Lion, than to ftart 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 Honour from the pale-fac'd Moon,
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, And lift to me.

Hot. I cry you Mercy.

Wor. Those fame noble Scots

That are your Prifoners

Hot. I'll keep them all.

By Heav'n, he fhall not have a Scat of them?
No, if a Scot would fave his Soul, he fhall not

I'll keep them, by this Hand.

Wer. You ftart away,

And lend no Ear unto my Purpofes.

Thloe

Thofe Prifoners you fhall keep.

Hot. Nay, 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'll have a Starling fhall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his Anger ftill in Motion.

Wor. Hear you, Coufin: A Word.
Hot. All Studies here I folemnly defie,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bullingbroke:
And that fame Sword and Buckler, Prince of Wales,
But that I think his Father loves him not,
And would be glad he met with fome Mifchance,
I would have poifon'd him with a Pot of Ale.
Wor. Farewel, Kinfman, I'll 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 fcourg'd with Rods,
Nettled, and ftung with Pifmires, when I hear
Of this vile Politician Bullingbroke:

In Richard's time- what d'ye call the Place?-
A Plague upon't- -it is in Glocefter fhire-
'Twas where the Madcap Duke his Uncle kept
His Uncle York-where I firft bow'd my Knee
Unto this King of Smiles, this Bullingbroke:
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.
North. At Barkley Castle.

Hot. You fay true:

Why what a gaudy deal of Courtefie

This fawning Greyhound then did proffer me!
Look when his infant Fortune came to Age,
And gentle Harry Percy-and kind Coufin-

O, the Devil take fuch Cozeners-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, infooth.