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IT, cousin, Percy; fit, good cousin Hotspur;

For, by that name, as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale! and with
A rising figh, he wisheth you in heav'n.
Hor. And

you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glen. I blame him not : at my nativity,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets : know that, at my birth,
The frame and the foundation of the earth
Shook like a coward.

Hot. So it would have done
At the same season if your mother's cat
Had kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born.

Glen. I say, the earth did fhake when I was born.

Hot. I say, the earth then was not of my mind; If you suppose, as fearing you, it shook. Glen. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did

tremble. Hor. O, then the earth shook to see the heav'ns on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In ftrange eruptions; and the teeming earth Is with a kind of colick pinch'd and vex’d, By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb; which for enlargement striving, Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down High tow'rs and moss-grown fteeples. At your birth,


Our grandam earth, with this distemperature,
In paflion fhook.
Glen. Cousin, of

many men
I do not bear these crossings : give me leave
To tell you once again, that at my birth
The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes ;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were ftrangely clam'rous in the frighted fields:
These figns have mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the courses of my life do shew,
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, clipt in with the sea,
That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland,
Who calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but woman's son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,
Or hold me pace in deep experiments.

Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welch.

Glen. I can speak English, Lord, as well as you, For I was train'd


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 seen 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 metre-ballad mongers !
I'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree,
And that would nothing set my teeth on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry;
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a fhufiling nag-



GLEN. And I can call spirits from the vafty deep,

Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man :' But will they come when you do call for them?

Glen. Why, I can teach thee to command the devif.

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth and shame the devil.

If thou hast pow'r to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn, I've pow'r to shame him hence. Ok, while you live, Tell truth and shame the devil.





:: But for mine own part, my Lord, I could be well

contented to be there, in refpect of the love I bear your house." He could be contented to be there ; why is he not then ? " In respect of the love le bears our house!" He News in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our houfe. Let me fee some more. The purpose you un, dertake is dangerous.” Why, that is certain : it is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink : but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nettle danger, we pluck this flower fafety. “ The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the “ friends you have named uncertain, the time itfelf unfort“ ed, and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoife of “ fo great an opposition.” Say you fo, fay you fo ? I say unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and you hie. What a lack-brain is this? By the Lord, our plot isa good plot as ever was laid'; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-fpirited rogue this is ? Why, my Lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. · By this hand, if I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his Lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of next month? and are there not some of them fet forward already? What a Pagan rascal is this ! an infidel. Ha!


fhall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a difh of skimmed milk with so honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared, I will set forward to-night.


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ow many thousands of my poorest subjects

Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness !
Why rather, Sleep, lay'st thou in smoaky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy flumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why lay'st thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'it the kingly couch,

A watch

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A watch-case to a common larum-bell?
Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy maft,
Seal up the ship's-boy's eyes, and rock his brains,
In cradle of the rude imperious surge ;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deat'ning clamours in the flipp'ry shrouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes :
Canst thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour fo rude ;
And, in the calmest and the stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy lowly clown;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.


C H A P.






I NEVER thought to hear you speak again.
K. Henry. Thy wish was father, Harry,

to that thought.
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs inveft thee with

my honours,
Before thy hour be ripe! O foolish youth !
Thou seek'it the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
Thou haft ftol'n that, which after some few hours,


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