Shakespeare's First Folio Part 288

Hot. Speake of Mortimer?

Yes, I will speake of him, and let my soule Want mercy, if I do not ioyne with him.

In his behalfe, Ile empty all these Veines, And shed my deere blood drop by drop i'th dust, But I will lift the downfall Mortimer As high i'th Ayre, as this Vnthankfull King, As this Ingrate and Cankred Bullingbrooke

Nor. Brother, the King hath made your Nephew mad Wor. Who strooke this heate vp after I was gone?

Hot. He will (forsooth) haue all my Prisoners: And when I vrg'd the ransom once againe Of my Wiues Brother, then his cheeke look'd pale, And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, Trembling euen at the name of Mortimer

Wor. I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim'd By Richard that dead is, the next of blood?

Nor. He was: I heard the Proclamation, And then it was, when the vnhappy King (Whose wrongs in vs G.o.d pardon) did set forth Vpon his Irish Expedition: From whence he intercepted, did returne To be depos'd, and shortly murthered

Wor. And for whose death, we in the worlds wide mouth Liue scandaliz'd, and fouly spoken of

Hot. But soft I pray you; did King Richard then Proclaime my brother Mortimer, Heyre to the Crowne?

Nor. He did, my selfe did heare it

Hot. Nay then I cannot blame his Cousin King, That wish'd him on the barren Mountaines staru'd.

But shall it be, that you that set the Crowne Vpon the head of this forgetfull man, And for his sake, wore the detested blot Of murtherous subornation? Shall it be, That you a world of curses vndergoe, Being the Agents, or base second meanes, The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather?

O pardon, if that I descend so low, To shew the Line, and the Predicament Wherein you range vnder this subtill King.

Shall it for shame, be spoken in these dayes, Or fill vp Chronicles in time to come, That men of your n.o.bility and Power, Did gage them both in an vniust behalfe (As Both of you, G.o.d pardon it, haue done) To put downe Richard, that sweet louely Rose, And plant this Thorne, this Canker Bullingbrooke?

And shall it in more shame be further spoken, That you are fool'd, discarded, and shooke off By him, for whom these shames ye vnderwent?

No: yet time serues, wherein you may redeeme Your banish'd Honors, and restore your selues Into the good Thoughts of the world againe.

Reuenge the geering and disdain'd contempt Of this proud King, who studies day and night To answer all the Debt he owes vnto you, Euen with the b.l.o.o.d.y Payment of your deaths: Therefore I say- Wor. Peace Cousin, say no more.

And now I will vnclaspe a Secret booke, And to your quicke conceyuing Discontents, Ile reade you Matter, deepe and dangerous, As full of perill and aduenturous Spirit, As to o're-walke a Current, roaring loud On the vnstedfast footing of a Speare

Hot. If he fall in, good night, or sinke or swimme: Send danger from the East vnto the West, So Honor crosse it from the North to South, And let them grapple: The blood more stirres To rowze a Lyon, then to start a Hare

Nor. Imagination of some great exploit, Driues him beyond the bounds of Patience

Hot. By heauen, me thinkes it were an easie leap, To plucke bright Honor from the pale-fac'd Moone, Or diue into the bottome of the deepe, Where Fadome-line could neuer touch the ground, And plucke vp drowned Honor by the Lockes: So he that doth redeeme her thence, might weare Without Co-riuall, all her Dignities: But out vpon this halfe-fac'd Fellowship

Wor. He apprehends a World of Figures here, But not the forme of what he should attend: Good Cousin giue me audience for a-while, And list to me

Hot. I cry you mercy

Wor. Those same n.o.ble Scottes That are your Prisoners

Hot. Ile keepe them all.

By heauen, he shall not haue a Scot of them: No, if a Scot would saue his Soule, he shall not.

Ile keepe them, by this Hand

Wor. You start away, And lend no eare vnto my purposes.

Those Prisoners you shall keepe

Hot. Nay, I will: that's flat: He said, he would not ransome Mortimer: Forbad my tongue to speake of Mortimer.

But I will finde him when he lyes asleepe, And in his eare, Ile holla Mortimer.

Nay, Ile haue a Starling shall be taught to speake Nothing but Mortimer, and giue it him, To keepe his anger still in motion

Wor. Heare you Cousin: a word

Hot. All studies heere I solemnly defie, Saue how to gall and pinch this Bullingbrooke, And that same Sword and Buckler Prince of Wales.

But that I thinke his Father loues him not, And would be glad he met with some mischance, I would haue poyson'd him with a pot of Ale

Wor. Farewell Kinsman: Ile talke to you When you are better temper'd to attend

Nor. Why what a Waspe-tongu'd & impatient foole Art thou, to breake into this Womans mood, Tying thine eare to no tongue but thine owne?

Hot. Why look you, I am whipt & scourg'd with rods, Netled, and stung with Pismires, when I heare Of this vile Politician Bullingbrooke.

In Richards time: What de'ye call the place?

A plague vpon't, it is in Gloustershire: 'Twas, where the madcap Duke his Vncle kept, His Vncle Yorke, where I first bow'd my knee Vnto this King of Smiles, this Bullingbrooke: When you and he came backe from Rauenspurgh

Nor. At Barkley Castle

Hot. You say true: Why what a caudie deale of curtesie, This fawning Grey-hound then did proffer me, Looke when his infant Fortune came to age, And gentle Harry Percy, and kinde Cousin: O, the Diuell take such Couzeners, G.o.d forgiue me, Good Vncle tell your tale, for I haue done

Wor. Nay, if you haue not, too't againe, Wee'l stay your leysure

Hot. I haue done insooth

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish Prisoners.

Deliuer them vp without their ransome straight, And make the Dowglas sonne your onely meane For powres in Scotland: which for diuers reasons Which I shall send you written, be a.s.sur'd Will easily be granted you, my Lord.

Your Sonne in Scotland being thus imploy'd, Shall secretly into the bosome creepe Of that same n.o.ble Prelate, well belou'd, The Archbishop

Hot. Of Yorke, is't not?

Wor. True, who beares hard His Brothers death at Bristow, the Lord Scroope.

I speake not this in estimation, As what I thinke might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted, and set downe, And onely stayes but to behold the face Of that occasion that shall bring it on

Hot. I smell it: Vpon my life, it will do wond'rous well

Nor. Before the game's a-foot, thou still let'st slip

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a n.o.ble plot, And then the power of Scotland, and of Yorke To ioyne with Mortimer, Ha

Wor. And so they shall

Hot. Infaith it is exceedingly well aym'd

Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids vs speed, To saue our heads, by raising of a Head: For, beare our selues as euen as we can, The King will alwayes thinke him in our debt, And thinke, we thinke our selues vnsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay vs home.

And see already, how he doth beginne To make vs strangers to his lookes of loue

Hot. He does, he does; wee'l be reueng'd on him

Wor. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this, Then I by Letters shall direct your course When time is ripe, which will be sodainly: Ile steale to Glendower, and loe, Mortimer, Where you, and Dowglas, and our powres at once, As I will fashion it, shall happily meete, To beare our fortunes in our owne strong armes, Which now we hold at much vncertainty

Nor. Farewell good Brother, we shall thriue, I trust

Hot. Vncle, adieu: O let the houres be short, Till fields, and blowes, and grones, applaud our sport.

Exit

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.