The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works
Page 161
Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
[Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him
in the same.]
GLENDOWER
She is desperate here, a peevish, self-willed harlotry,
one that no persuasion can do good upon.
[The lady speaks in Welsh.]
MORTIMER I understand thy looks, that pretty Welsh
Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens
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I am too perfect in, and but for shame
In such a parley should I answer thee.
[The lady speaks again in Welsh.]
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
And that’s a feeling disputation,
But I will never be a truant, love,
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Till I have learnt thy language, for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn’d,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bow’r
With ravishing division to her lute.
GLENDOWER Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
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[The lady speaks again in Welsh.]
MORTIMER O, I am ignorance itself in this!
GLENDOWER
She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
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Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,
Making such difference ’twixt wake and sleep
As is the difference betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heavenly-harness’d team
Begins his golden progress in the east.
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MORTIMER With all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing,
By that time will our book I think be drawn.
GLENDOWER
Do so, and those musicians that shall play to you
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,
And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.
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HOTSPUR Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down:
Come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.
LADY PERCY Go, ye giddy goose. [The music plays.]
HOTSPUR Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh,
And ’tis no marvel he is so humorous,
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By’r lady, he is a good musician.
LADY PERCY Then should you be nothing but musical,
For you are altogether govern’d by humours.
Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.
HOTSPUR
I had rather hear Lady my brach howl in Irish.
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LADY PERCY Wouldst thou have thy head broken?
HOTSPUR No.
LADY PERCY Then be still.
HOTSPUR Neither, ’tis a woman’s fault.
LADY PERCY Now God help thee!
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HOTSPUR To the Welsh lady’s bed.
LADY PERCY What’s that?
HOTSPUR Peace, she sings.
[Here the lady sings a Welsh song.]
Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too.
LADY PERCY Not mine, in good sooth.
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HOTSPUR Not yours, in good sooth! Heart, you swear
like a comfit-maker’s wife – ‘Not you, in good sooth!’,
and ‘As true as I live!’, and ‘As God shall mend me!’,
and ‘As sure as day!’ –
And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths
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As if thou never walk’st further than Finsbury.
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
A good mouth-filling oath, and leave ‘In sooth’,
And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,
To velvet-guards, and Sunday citizens.
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Come, sing.
LADY PERCY I will not sing.
HOTSPUR ’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be
redbreast teacher. And the indentures be drawn I’ll
away within these two hours; and so come in when ye
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will. Exit.
GLENDOWER
Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slow
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go:
By this our book is drawn – we’ll but seal,
And then to horse immediately.
MORTIMER With all my heart.
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Exeunt.
3.2 Enter the KING, PRINCE OF WALES and others.
KING Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference: but be near at hand,
For we shall presently have need of you.
Exeunt lords.
I know not whether God will have it so
For some displeasing service I have done,
5
That in his secret doom out of my blood
He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost in thy passages of life
Make me believe that thou art only mark’d
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven,
10
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match’d withal, and grafted to,
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Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?
PRINCE So please your Majesty, I would I could
Quit all offences with as clear excuse
As well as I am doubtless I can purge
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Myself of many I am charg’d withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg
As, in reproof of many tales devis’d,
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,
By smiling pickthanks, and base newsmongers,
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I may for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander’d and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission.
KING God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
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Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supply’d,
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood:
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The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin’d, and the soul of every man
Prophetically do forethink thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney’d in the eyes of men,
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So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession,
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
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By being seldom seen, I could not stir
But like a comet I was wonder’d at,
That men would tell their children, ‘This is he!’
Others would say, ‘Where, which is Bolingbroke?’
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
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And dress’d myself in such humility
That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned King.
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new,
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My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne’er seen but wonder’d at, and so my st
ate,
Seldom, but sumptuous, show’d like a feast,
And wan by rareness such solemnity.
The skipping King, he ambled up and down,
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With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled and soon burnt, carded his state,
Mingled his royalty with cap’ring fools,
Had his great name profaned with their scorns,
And gave his countenance against his name
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To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push
Of every beardless vain comparative,
Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff ‘d himself to popularity,
That, being daily swallow’d by men’s eyes,
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They surfeited with honey, and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So, when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
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Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes
As, sick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze,
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes,
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But rather drows’d and hung their eyelids down,
Slept in his face, and render’d such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
Being with his presence glutted, gorg’d, and full.
And in that very line, Harry, standest thou,
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For thou hast lost thy princely privilege
With vile participation. Not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir’d to see thee more,
Which now doth that I would not have it do,
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Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
PRINCE I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord,
Be more myself.
KING For all the world
As thou art to this hour was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh,
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And even as I was then is Percy now.
Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to the state
Than thou the shadow of succession.
For of no right, nor colour like to right,
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He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
Turns head against the lion’s armed jaws,
And being no more in debt to years than thou
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms.
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What never-dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds,
Whose hot incursions and great name in arms,
Holds from all soldiers chief majority
And military title capital
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Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes,
This infant warrior, in his enterprises
Discomfited great Douglas, ta’en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,
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To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,
And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
The Archbishop’s Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,
Capitulate against us and are up.
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But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my nearest and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
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To fight against me under Percy’s pay,
To dog his heels, and curtsy at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerate.
PRINCE Do not think so, you shall not find it so;
And God forgive them that so much have sway’d
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Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy’s head,
And in the closing of some glorious day
Be bold to tell you that I am your son,
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
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And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it;
And that shall be the day, whene’er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
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