William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Complete Works

For I myself at this time have employ’d him.

And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee,

That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,

Send him to answer thee, or any man,

For any thing he shall be charged withal:

And so, let me entreat you leave the house.

SHERIFF.

I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen

Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

PRINCE.

It may be so: if he have robb’d these men,

He shall be answerable; and so, farewell.

SHERIFF.

Good night, my noble lord.

PRINCE.

I think it is good morrow, is it not?

SHERIFF.

Indeed, my lord, I think’t be two o’clock.

[Exit Sheriff and Carrier.]

PRINCE.

This oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s. Go, call him forth.

POINS.

Falstaff!—fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

PRINCE.

Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.

[Poins searches.]

What hast thou found?

POINS.

Nothing but papers, my lord.

PRINCE.

Let’s see what they be: read them.

POINS.

[reads]

Item, A capon, . . . . . . . . . 2s. 2d.

Item, Sauce, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4d.

Item, Sack two gallons ,. . . 5s. 8d.

Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.

Item, Bread, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ob.

PRINCE.

O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close; we’ll read it at more advantage: there let him sleep till day. I’ll to the Court in the morning. We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I’ll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and I know his death will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so, good morrow, Poins.

POINS.

Good morrow, good my lord.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III

SCENE 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 you, his cheek looks pale, and with

A rising sigh he 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 nativity

The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,

Of burning cressets; ay, and at my birth

The frame and huge foundation of the Earth

Shaked like a coward.

HOTSPUR.

Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother’s cat had 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 forth

In strange eruptions; oft the teeming Earth

Is with a kind of colic pinch’d and vex’d

By the imprisoning of unruly wind

Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,

Shakes the old beldam Earth, and topples down

Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth,

Our grandam Earth, having this distemperature,

In passion shook.

GLENDOWER.

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 heaven was full of fiery shapes;

The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds

Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.

These signs have mark’d me extraordinary;

And all the courses of my life do show

I am not in the roll of common men.

Where is he living,—clipp’d in with the sea

That 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 son

Can 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 Devil

By telling truth: tell truth, and shame the Devil.

If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,

And I’ll be sworn I’ve 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 head

Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye

And sandy-bottom’d Severn have I sent

Him bootless home and weather-beaten back.

HOTSPUR.

Home without boots, and in foul weather too!

How ’scaped he agues, in the Devil’s name!

GLENDOWER.

Come, here’s the map: shall we divide our right

According to our threefold order ta’en?

MORTIMER.

Th’ archdeacon hath divided it

Into 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 you

The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.

And our indentures tripartite are drawn;

Which being sealed interchangeably,—

A business that this night may execute,—

To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I,

And my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth

To 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 Glend.] Within that space you may have drawn together

Your 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 shed

Upon 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 land

A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.

I’ll have the current in this place damn’d up;

And here the smug and sliver Trent shall run

In 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 up

With like advantage on the other side;

Gelding th’ opposed continent as much

As 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 runneth straight and evenly.

HOTSPUR.

I’ll have it so: a little charge will do it.