He call'd them-untaught knaves, unmannerly, With many holiday and lady terms He question'd me: among the rest, demanded I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not;-for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark!) And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth And that it was great pity, so it was, That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd I answer'd, indirectly, as I said; Come current for an accusation, Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, Whatever Harry Percy then had said, To such a person, and in such a place, K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd To ransom home revolted Mortimer. Hot. Revolted Mortimer! He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war;-To prove that true, Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took," When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, In single opposition, hand to hand, In changing hardiment with great Glendower: Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink, Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood: Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. K, Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him. He never did encounter with Glendower; I tell thee, He durst as well have met the devil alone, [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile; Here comes your uncle. Hot. Re-enter WORCESTER. Speak of Mortimer? 'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, As high i'the air as this unthankful king, mad. North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew [To Worcester. Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone? Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; And when I urg'd the ransom once again Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale; And on my face he turn'd an eye of death 1, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. Wor. I cannot blame him: Was he not proclaim'd, By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? North. He was; I heard the proclamation; And then it was, when the unhappy king (Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth Upon his Irish expedition; From whence he, intercepted, did return To be deposed, and, shortly murdered. Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide mouth Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. Hot. But, soft, I pray you; Did king Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Heir to the crown? He did; myself did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd. But shall it be, that you,-that set the crown Upon the head of this forgetful man; And, for his sake, wear the detested blot To show the line, and the predicament, |