You tread upon my patience: but, be sure, Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, And therefore lost that title of respect, Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud. And that same greatness too which our own hands North. My lord, K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger And disobedience in thine eye: O, sir, Your presence is too bold and peremptory, And majesty might never yet endure You have good leave to leave us; when we need [Exit Worcester. [To North. You were about to speak. Either envy, therefore, or misprision Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners: And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He question'd me: among the rest demanded I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not-for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark!), Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whatever Harry Percy then had said, To such a person, and in such a place, K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd The lives of those, that he did lead to fight Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears, 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 Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. [drink, K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie He never did encounter with Glendower; I tell thee, He durst as well have met the devil alone, Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, [him, As will displease you. My lord Northumberland, [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, Although it be with 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 What mercy, if I do not join with him: As high i'the air as this unthankful king, North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. [To Worcester. Wor. Who struck this heat up, after 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; 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 From whence he, intercepted, did return Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. [mouth Hot. But, soft, I pray you: Did king Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer North. He did; myself did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd. 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 further 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. Peace, cousin, say no more: 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 advent'rous spirit, As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. |