And nothing can we call our own but death: Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks SHAKESPEARE. CHAP. XIV. Hotspur and Glendower. Glen.SIT, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotse pur; 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 heav'n. Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glen. I blame him not: at my nativity The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets; know that at my birth Hot. So it would have done At the same season if your mother's cat Had kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. Glen. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. Hot. I say, the earth then was not of my mind, If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. Glen. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did tremble. Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heav'ns on fire ! And not in fear of your nativity. Diseased nature often times breaks forth Within her womb, which, for enlargement striv ing, Shakes the olb beldame earth, and topples down High tow'rs and moss-grown steeples. At your birth, Our grandam earth with this distemperature Glen. Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings: give me leave Who calls me pupil, or hath read to me? OF Or hold me pace in deep experiments. Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh. Glen. I can speak English, Lord, as well as you, For I was train'd up in the English court: Where, being 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. Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart; I'd rather be a kitten, and cry mew; Glen. And I can call spirits from the vasty deep. devil. Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil By telling truth; Tell truth and shame the devil.--If thou hast pow'r to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn I've pow'r to shame him hence. Oh, while you live, Tell truth and shame the devil SHAKESPEARE. CHA P. X V. Hotspur reading a letter. Bur for mine own part, my Lord, " I "could be well contented to be there in res"pect of the love I bear your house." He could be contended to be there; why is he not then? "In respect of the love he bears our house! He shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. "The purpose you undertake is dangerous. Why, that is certain: it is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nettle danger we pluck this flower safely. "The purpose you : undertake is dangerous, the friends you have "named uncertain, the time itself unsorted, "and your whole plot too light for the counter : poise of so great an opposition." Say you so! say you so! I say unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lackbrain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid, our friends true and constant a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation: an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue this is? Why, my Lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his Lady's fan. Are there not my father, my uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides the Lord Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of next month? and are there not some of them set forward already? 329 What a Pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and. go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared, I will set forward to-night. SHAKESPEARE. CHA P. X V I. Henry IV's Soliloquy on Sleep. How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep! O gentle Sleep, Why rather, Sleep, lay'st thou in smoaky cribs, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? Who take the ruffian billows by the top, |