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But that I think his father loves him not

And would be glad he met with some mischance,

I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale.

Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you

When you are better temper'd to attend.

North. Why, what a wasp-stung 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 whipp'd and scourg'd with rods,

Nettled, and stung with pismires when I hear

Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.

In Richard's time- what do you call the place-

A plague upon it! it is in GIoucestershire-

'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept-

His uncle York- where I first bow'd my knee

Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke-

'S blood!

When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh-

North. At Berkeley Castle.

Hot. You say true.

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy

This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!

Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,'

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.

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again.

We will stay your leisure.

Hot. I have done, i' faith.

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.

Deliver them up without their ransom straight,

And make the Douglas' son your only mean

For powers In Scotland; which, for divers reasons

Which I shall send you written, be assur'd

Will easily be granted. [To Northumberland] You, my lord,

Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,

Shall secretly into the bosom creep

Of that same noble prelate well-belov'd,

The Archbishop.

Hot. Of York, is it not?

Wor. True; who bears hard

His brother's death at Bristow, the Lord Scroop.

I speak not this in estimation,

As what I think might be, but what I know

Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,

And only stays but to behold the face

Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

Hot. I smell it. Upon my life, it will do well.

North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'st slip.

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot.

And then the power of Scotland and of York

To join with Mortimer, ha?

Wor. And so they shall.

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.

Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,

To save 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 think ourselves unsatisfied,

Till he hath found a time to pay us home.

And see already how he doth begin

To make us strangers to his looks of love.

Hot. He does, he does! We'll be reveng'd on him.

Wor. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this

Than I by letters shall direct your course.

When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,

I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,

Where you and Douglas, and our pow'rs at once,

As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,

To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,

Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

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 it be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd.

Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not

pack'd.- What, ostler!

Ost. [within] Anon, anon.

1. Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the

point. Poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

Enter another Carrier.

2. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the

next way to give poor jades the bots. This house is turned upside

down since Robin Ostler died.

1. Car. Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose.

It

was the death of him.

2. Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London road

for fleas. I am stung like a tench.

1. Car. Like a tench I By the mass, there is ne'er a king christen

could be better bit than I have been since