Act IIIScene I
Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon’s House
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer and Glendower.
Mortimer
These promises are fair, the parties sure,And our induction full of prosperous hope.
Hotspur
Lord Mortimer and cousin Glendower,Will you sit down? And uncle Worcester,A plague upon it! I have forgot the map.
Glendower
No, here it is.Sit, cousin Percy, sit, good cousin Hotspur;For by that name as oft as Lancaster doth speak of youHis cheek looks pale, and with a rising sighHe wisheth you in heaven.
Hotspur
And you in hell,As oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glendower
I cannot blame him. At my nativityThe front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,Of burning cressets, and at my birthThe frame and huge foundation of the EarthShaked like a coward.
Hotspur
Why, so it would have doneAt the same season, if your mother’s catHad but kitten’d, though yourself had never been born.
Glendower
I say the Earth did shake when I was born.
Hotspur
And I say the Earth was not of my mind,If you suppose as fearing you it shook.
Glendower
The heavens were all on fire, the Earth did tremble.
Hotspur
O, then th’ Earth shook to see the heavens on fire,And not in fear of your nativity.Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forthIn strange eruptions; oft the teeming EarthIs with a kind of colic pinch’d and vex’dBy the imprisoning of unruly windWithin her womb, which for enlargement striving,Shakes the old beldam Earth, and topples downSteeples and moss-grown towers. At your birthOur grandam Earth, having this distemp’rature,In passion shook.
Glendower
Cousin, of many menI do not bear these crossings. Give me leaveTo tell you once again that at my birthThe front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,The goats ran from the mountains, and the herdsWere strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.These signs have mark’d me extraordinary,And all the courses of my life do showI am not in the roll of common men.Where is he living, clipp’d in with the seaThat chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,Which calls me pupil or hath read to me?And bring him out that is but woman’s sonCan trace me in the tedious ways of art,And hold me pace in deep experiments.
Hotspur
I think there is no man speaks better Welsh.I’ll to dinner.
Mortimer
Peace, cousin Percy, you will make him mad.
Glendower
I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hotspur
Why, so can I, or so can any man,But will they come when you do call for them?
Glendower
Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil.
Hotspur
And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devilBy telling truth; tell truth, and shame the devil.If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,And I’ll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil!
Mortimer
Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.
Glendower
Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made headAgainst my power; thrice from the banks of WyeAnd sandy-bottom’d Severn have I sent himBootless home and weather-beaten back.
Hotspur
Home without boots, and in foul weather too!How ’scapes he agues, in the devil’s name!
Glendower
Come, here’s the map, shall we divide our rightAccording to our threefold order ta’en?
Mortimer
The archdeacon hath divided itInto three limits very equally:England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,By south and east is to my part assign’d:All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,And all the fertile land within that bound,To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to youThe remnant northward lying off from Trent.And our indentures tripartite are drawn,Which being sealed interchangeably,A business that this night may execute,Tomorrow, cousin Percy, you and I,And my good Lord of Worcester will set forthTo meet your father and the Scottish power,As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.My father Glendower is not ready yet,Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days.
To Glendower.
Within that space you may have drawn togetherYour tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.
Glendower
A shorter time shall send me to you, lords,And in my conduct shall your ladies come,From whom you now must steal, and take no leave,For there will be a world of water shedUpon the parting of your wives and you.
Hotspur
Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,In quantity equals not one of yours.See how this river comes me cranking in,And cuts me from the best of all my landA huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.I’ll have the current in this place dammed up,And here the smug and silver Trent shall runIn a new channel, fair and evenly.It shall not wind with such a deep indent,To rob me of so rich a bottom here.
Glendower
Not wind? It shall, it must. You see it doth.
Mortimer
Yea, but mark how he bears his course, and runs me upWith like advantage on the other side,Gelding the opposed continent as muchAs on the other side it takes from you.
Worcester
Yea, but a little charge will trench him here,And on this north side win this cape of land,And then he runs straight and even.
Hotspur
I’ll have it so, a little charge will do it.
Glendower
I’ll not have it altered.
Hotspur
Will not you?
Glendower
No, nor you shall not.
Hotspur
Who shall say me nay?
Glendower
Why, that will I.
Hotspur
Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh.
Glendower
I can speak English, lord, as well as you,For I was train’d up in the English Court,Where being but young I framed to the harpMany an English ditty lovely well,And gave the tongue a helpful ornament—A virtue that was never seen in you.
Hotspur
Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart.I had rather be a kitten, and cry “mew”Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn’d,Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree,And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,Nothing so much as mincing poetry.’Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.
Glendower
Come, you shall have Trent turn’d.
Hotspur
I do not care. I’ll give thrice so much landTo any well-deserving friend;But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,I’ll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.Are the indentures drawn? Shall we be gone?
Glendower
The moon shines fair, you may away by night.I’ll haste the writer, and withalBreak with your wives of your departure hence.I am afraid my daughter will run mad,So much she doteth on her Mortimer.
Exit.
Mortimer
Fie, cousin Percy, how you cross my father!
Hotspur
I cannot choose. Sometimes he angers meWith telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,And of a dragon and a finless fish,A clip-wing’d griffin and a moulten raven,A couching lion and a ramping cat,And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuffAs puts me from my faith. I tell you what—He held me last night at least nine hoursIn reckoning up the several devils’ namesThat were his lackeys: I cried “Hum,” and “Well, go to,”But mark’d him not a word. O, he is as tediousAs a tired horse, a railing wife,Worse than a smoky house. I had rather liveWith cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,Than feed on cates and have him talk to meIn any summer house in Christendom.
Mortimer
In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,Exceedingly well read, and profitedIn strange concealments, valiant as a lion,And wondrous affable, and as bountifulAs mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?He holds your temper in a high respectAnd curbs himself even of his natural scopeWhen you come cross his humour, faith, he does.I warrant you that man is not aliveMight so have tempted him as you have doneWithout the taste of danger and reproof:But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.
Worcester
In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame,And since your coming hither have done enoughTo put him quite besides his patience.You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault.Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood—And that’s the dearest grace it renders you—Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,Defect of manners, want of government,Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain,The least of which haunting a noblemanLoseth men’s hearts and leaves behind a stainUpon the beauty of all parts besides,Beguiling them of commendation.
Hotspur
Well, I am school’d. Good manners be your speed!Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.
Enter Glendower with Lady Mortimer and Lady Percy.
Mortimer
This is the deadly spite that angers me,My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
Glendower
My daughter weeps, she’ll not part with you,She’ll be a soldier too, she’ll to the wars.
Mortimer
Good father, tell her that she and my aunt PercyShall follow in your conduct speedily.
Glendower speaks to Lady Mortimer 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.
Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.
Mortimer
I understand thy looks, that pretty WelshWhich thou pourest down from these swelling heavensI am too perfect in, and but for shameIn such a parley should I answer thee.
Lady Mortimer speaks to him again in Welsh.
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,And that’s a feeling disputation,But I will never be a truant, love,Till I have learnt thy language; for thy tongueMakes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn’d,Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bower,With ravishing division, to her lute.
Glendower
Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer 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,Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,Making such difference ’twixt wake and sleepAs is the difference betwixt day and night,The hour before the heavenly-harness’d teamBegins his golden progress in the east.
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 youHang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.
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’s so humorous.By’r Lady, he’s a good musician.
Lady Percy
Then should you be nothing but musical,For you are altogether governed by humours.Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.
Hotspur
I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.
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!
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.
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 shallmend me,” and “As sure as day”And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oathsAs if thou never walk’dst 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.Come, sing.
Lady Percy
I will not sing.
Hotspur
’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast-teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours; and so come in when ye will.
Exit.
Glendower
Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slowAs 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.
Exeunt.