William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Complete Works

GLENDOWER.

I will not have it alter’d.

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 harp

Many 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 ballet-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 land

To 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?

GLEND.

The Moon shines fair; you may away by night:

I’ll in and haste the writer, and withal

Break 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 me

With 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 stuff

As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,

He held me last night at the least nine hours

In reckoning up the several devils’ names

That were his lacqueys: I cried hum, and well,

But mark’d him not a word. O, he’s as tedious

As a tired horse, a railing wife;

Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live

With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,

Than feed on cates and have him talk to me

In any summer-house in Christendom.

MORTIMER.

In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;

Exceedingly well-read, and profited

In strange concealments; valiant as a lion,

And wondrous affable, and as bountiful

As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?

He holds your temper in a high respect,

And curbs himself even of his natural scope

When you do cross his humour; faith, he does:

I warrant you, that man is not alive

Might so have tempted him as you have done,

Without 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-blunt;

And since your coming hither have done enough

To put him quite beside 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 nobleman

Loseth men’s hearts, and leaves behind a stain

Upon 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.

[Re-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 will 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 Percy

Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

[Glendower speaks to Lady Mortimer in Welsh, and she answers him in the same.]

GLENDOWER.

She’s desperate here; a peevish self-will’d harlotry,

One that no persuasion can do good upon.

[Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.]

MORTIMER.

I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh

Which thou pour’st down from these swelling heavens

I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,

In 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 learn’d thy language; for thy tongue

Makes 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 betwixt wake and sleep,

As is the difference betwixt day and night,

The hour before the heavenly-harness’d team

Begins 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:

An those musicians that shall play to you

Hang 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.

Peace! she sings.

[A Welsh song by Lady Mortimer.]

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 mine, in good sooth; and, As true

as I live; and, As God shall mend me; and, As sure as day;

And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,

As if thou ne’er 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 slow

As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

By this our book’s drawn; we’ll but seal, and then

To horse immediately.