The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?
(O pardon me, that I defcend so low,
To hew the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this fubtle King)
Shall it for thame be fpoken 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 fweet lovely rofe,
And plant this thorn, this canker Bolingbroke?
And shall it in more fhame be further fpoken,
That you are fool'd, difcarded, and fhook off
By him for whom thefe fhames ye underwent?
No; yet time ferves, wherein you may redeem
Your banith'd honours, and restore yourfelves
Into the good thoughts of the world again.
Revenge the jeering, and dildain'd contempt
Of this proud King, who studies day and night ·
To answer all the debt he owes unto you,
Ev'n with the bloody payments of your deaths ::
Therefore, I fay -

Wor. Peace, coufin, fay no more.
And now I will unclaíp a fecret book,
And to your quick-conceiving difcontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous;
As full of peril and advent'rous ípirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a fpear.

Hot. If he fall in, good night, or fink or swim-a Send danger from the eaft unto the weft, So honour crofs it from the north to fouth, And let them grapple. -O! the blood more ftirs To rouze 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 eafy 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 fhould attend.
-Good coufin, give me audience for a while.
Hot. I cry you mercy.

Wor. Thofe fame noble Scots,
That are your prifoners-

Hot. I'll keep them all;

Fy Heav'n he fhall not have a Scot of them;
Ne, if a Scot would fave his foul, he fhall not;
I keep them, by this hand.

Wor. You ftart away,

And lend no ear unto my purposes;
Thofe prifoners you fhall keep.
Hot. I will; that's flat.

He faid he would not ranfom Mortimer,
Ferbad 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 will have a starling 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 ftudies here I folemnly defy, Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke. And that lame fword-and-buckler prince of Wales, B that, I think, his father loves him not,

Ad would be glad he met with fome mifchance, I'd have him poifon'd with a pot of ale.

Wor. Farewell, my kinfman! I will talk to you When you are better temper'd to attend.

North. Why, what a waip-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 Bolingbroke.

In Richard's time-what do ye call the place?-
A plague upon't !-it is in Glo'itershire

'Twas where the mad-cap Duke his uncle kept-
His uncle York—where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this King of fmiles, this Bolingbroke,
When you and he came back from Ravenfpurg.
North. At Berkley caftle.

Hot. You fay true:

*

Why, what a deal of candy'd courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
Look, when his infant fortune came to age
And gentle Harry Percy-and kind cousin.-
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 leisure.

Hot. I have done, i'faith.

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.

[To Hotfpur.
Deliver them without their ranfom ftraight,
And make the Douglas' fon your only mean
For pow'rs in Scotland; which, for divers reafons,
Which I fhall fend you written, be affur'd

Will eafily be granted.-You, my Lord, [To North.
Your fon in Scotland being thus employ'd,
Shall fecretly into the bofom creep

Of that fame noble prelate, well belov❜d,
Th' archbishop.

Hot. York, is't not?

Wor. True, who bears hard

His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.
I fpeak not this in eftimation,

As what, I think, might be; but what, I know,
Is ruminated, plotted and fet down;

And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occafion that fhall bring it on.

Hot. I fmell it. On my life it will do well.
North. Before the game's a-foot, thou still lett'st
Hot. It cannot chule but be a noble plot; [flip.
And then the power of Scotland, and of York,
To join with Mortimer-ha!

Alluding to what paffed in King Richard, AQIL Sc. 9. Johnjon.

Wor. So they fhall.

:

Hot. In faith it is exceedingly well aim'd.
Wor. And 'tis no little reafon bids us speed
To-fave our heads, by raising of a head *
For, bear ourselves as even as we can,
The King will always think him in our debt;
And think we deem ourfelves unfatisfy'd,
Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And fee already how he doth begin

To make us ftrangers to his looks of love.
Hot. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him.
Wor. Coufin, farewell. No further go in this,
Than I by letters fhall direct your course
When time is ripe, which will be fuddenly.
I'll teal to Glendower, and Lord Mortimer,.
Where you and Douglas, and our pow'rs at once
(As I will fashion it) thall happily meet,

To bear our fortunes in our own ftrong arms,
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

North. Farewell, good brother; we shall thrive,
I truft.

Hot. Uncle, adieu. O let the hours be fhort, 'Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our fport!

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I..

An Inn at Rochester.

Enter a Carrier, with a lanthorn in his hand.

HE

Carrier.

Eigh ho! an't be not four by the day, I'll be bang'd. Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our hørte not packt. What, oftler? Oft. within.] Anon, anon.

1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cutt's faddle, put a few flocks in the point: the poor jade is wrung in the withers, out of all cess †.

A head is a body of forces

ti. c. Out of all meature. Warburton.

Enter another Carrier.

2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots. This houfe is turn'd upside down, fince Robin Oftler dy'd.

1 Car. Poor fellow never joy'd fince the price of oats role; it was the death of him.

2 Car. I think this be the most villainous houfe in all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench.

1 Car. Like a tench? by th' mafs there's ne'er a King in Christendom could be better bit then I have been fince the first cock.

2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jourden, and then we leak in your chimney: and your chamber-lie breed fleas like a loach.

I Car. What, oftler!--Come away, and be hang'd, come away.

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger to be deliver'd as far as Charing-crofs.

I Car. 'Odfbody, the Turkies in my panniers are quite ftarv'd. What, oftler! a plague on thee! haft thou never an eye in thy head? canft not hear? an 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain.-Come and be hang'd-haft no faith in thee?

Enter Gads-hill.

Gads. Good-morrow, carriers. What's o' clock? Car. I think it be two o'clock.

Gads. I pr'ythee lend me thy lanthorn, to fee my gelding in the ftable.

1 Car. Nay, foft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that, i' faith.

Gads. I pr'ythee lend me thine.

2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell?—lend me thy lant❤ horn, quoth a !-marry, I'll fee thee hang'd first. Gads. Sirrah, carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.-Come, neighbour Mugges, we'll