be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot, and, I know, his death will be a march of twelvefcore. The mony fhall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and fo good morrow, Peto. Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I: The Archdeacon of Bangor's House in Wales. Enter Hot-fpur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, and T 5 Owen Glendower. MORTIMER. HESE promifes are fair, the parties fure, And our Induction full of profp'rous hope. Hot. Lord Mortimer, and coufin Glendower, Will you fit down? And, uncle Worcester I have forgot the map. Glend. No, here it is. -a plague upon it!" Sit, coufin Percy; fit, good coufin Hot-Spur; Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale; and with Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glend. I blame him not; at my Nativity, The front of heav'n was full of fiery fhapes, Of burning Creffets; know, that, at my birth, 4 I know, his death will be a march of twelvese›re.] i. e. It will kill him to march fo far as twelvefcore yards. 5 -induction] That is, entrance; beginning. The The frame and the foundation of the earth Shook like a coward. Hot. So it wou'd have done At the fame feason, if your mother's cat Had kitten'd, though your felf had ne'er been born. Glend. I fay, the earth did shake when I was born. Hot. I fay, the earth then was not of my mind, If you fuppofe, as fearing you, it fhook. Glend. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did tremble. Hot. O, then the earth fhook to fee the heav'ns on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Difeafed Nature oftentimes breaks forth In ftrange eruptions; and the teeming earth Within her womb; which, for enlargement ftriving, Glend. Coufin, of many men I do not bear these croffings. Give me leave goats ran from the mountains, and the herds That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland, Difeofed Nature] The poet has here taken, from the perverfenefs and contrarioufnefs of Hotfur's temper, an oppor tunity of raifing his character, by a very rational and philofophical confutation of fuperftitious errour. And And bring him out, that is but woman's fon, Hot. I think, there is no man fpeaks better Welsh. Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad. Glend. I can call Spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, fo can I, or fo can any man: But, will they come when you do call for them? No more of this unprofitable chat. Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head Against my pow'r; thrice from the banks of Wye, Him bootless home, and weather-beaten back. Hot. Home, without boots, and in foul weather too! How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name? Glend. Come, here's the Map: Shall we divide our According to our threefold order ta'en? Mort. Th' Archdeacon hath divided it England, from Trent, and Severn hitherto, To To morrow, coufin Percy, you and I, My father Glendower is not ready yet, Nor fhall we need his help these fourteen days. Upon the parting of your wives and you. Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here, In quantity equals not one of yours. See, how this river comes me crankling in, It fhall not wind with fuch a deep indent, Glend. Not wind? it fhall, it muft; you fee, it doth. Mort. But mark, he bears his courfe, and runs me up With like advantage on the other fide, Gelding th' oppofed continent as much, As on the other fide it takes from you. Wor. Yes, but a little charge will trench him here, And on this north fide win this cape of land, And then he runs ftraight and even. 7 Methinks, my moiety,] Hotspur is here juft fuch a divider as the Irishman who made three halves: Therefore, for the honour of Shakespeare, I will fuppofe, with the Oxford Editor, that he wrote portion. WARB. I will not fuppofe it. Hot. Hot. I'll have it fe, a little charge will do it. Glend. I will not have it alter'd. Hot. Will not you? Glend. No, nor you shall not. Hot. Who fhall fay me nay? Hot. Let me not understand you then, Glend. I can fpeak English, lord, as well as you, For I was train'd up in the English Court, Where, being young, I framed to the harp Many an English Ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; A virtue, that was never feen in you. Hot. Marry, and 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; I'd 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 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; 8 (I'll hate the writer) and withal, Break with your Wives of your departure hence. So much the doteth on her Mortimer. The tongue.] The English language. [Exit. |