Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, But out upon this half-faced fellowship! Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, But not the form of what he should attend.— Good cousin, give me audience for a while. By God, he shall not have a Scot of them; No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not. Wor. You start away And lend no ear unto my purposes. Those prisoners you shall keep. Hot. Nay, I will that's flat I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak To keep his anger still in motion. Wor. Hear you, cousin; a word. Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of But that I think his father loves him not, Wor. Farewell, kinsman: I will talk to you North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool Art thou, to break into this woman's mood, Hot. Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods, Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear In Richard's time,—what do ye call the place?— 'T was where the madcap duke his uncle kept, — When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. North. At Berkley Castle. Hot. You say true : Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! And, gentle Harry Percy,' — and, 'kind cousin,' - O, the devil take such cozeners!-God forgive me! Good uncle, tell your tale; for I have done. Hot. I have done, i' faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. Your son in Scotland being thus employed, Of that same noble prelate well-beloved, Hot. Of York, is 't not? Wor. True; who bears hard His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. As what I think might be, but what I know And only stays but to behold the face Of that occasion that shall bring it on. Hot. I smell 't: upon my life, it will do well. North. Before the game 's afoot, thou still lett'st slip. Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot : And then the power of Scotland and of York,— And so they shall. Wor. To make us strangers to his looks of love. Hot. He does, he does: we'll be revenged on him. Wor. Cousin, farewell :- No further go in this Than I by letters shall direct your course. To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust. Hot. Uncle, adieu.-O, let the hours be short, Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-Rochester. An Inn Yard. Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand. 1 Car. Heigh-ho! An't be not four by the day, I'll be hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler! Ostler. [Within.] Anon, anon. 1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess. |