Upon his Irish expedition,

From whence he, intercepted, did return

To be deposed, and shortly murdered.

WORCESTER

And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouth

Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

HOTSPUR

But soft, I pray you; did King Richard then

Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer

Heir to the crown?

NORTHUMBERLAND He did; myself did hear it.

HOTSPUR

Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin King

That wished him on the barren mountains starve.

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

Of murderous subornation, shall it be

That you a world of curses undergo,

Being the agents or base second means,

The cords, the ladder, or the hangman, rather?

O, pardon me that I descend so low

To show the line and the predicament

Wherein you range under this subtle King!

Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,

Or fill up chronicles in time to come,

That men of your nobility and power

Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,

As both of you, God pardon it, have done:

To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,

And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?

And shall it in more shame be further spoken

That you are fooled, discarded, and shook off

By him for whom these shames ye underwent?

No; yet time serves wherein you may redeem

Your banished honours, and restore yourselves

Into the good thoughts of the world again,

Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt

Of this proud King, who studies day and night

To answer all the debt he owes to you

Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.

Therefore, I say—

WORCESTER Peace, cousin, say no more.

And now I will unclasp a secret book,

And to your quick-conceiving discontents

I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous,

As full of peril and adventurous spirit

As to o’erwalk a current roaring loud

On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

HOTSPUR

If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim.

Send danger from the east unto the west,

So honour cross it from the north to south;

And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs

To rouse a lion than to start a hare!

NORTHUMBERLAND (to Worcester)

Imagination of some great exploit

Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.

⌈HOTSPUR⌉

By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap

To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,

Or dive into the bottom of the deep,

Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,

And pluck up drowned honour by the locks,

So he that doth redeem her thence might wear,

Without corrival, all her dignities.

But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

WORCESTER (to Northumberland)

He apprehends a world of figures here,

But not the form of what he should attend.

(To Hotspur) Good cousin, give me audience for a while,

And list to me.

HOTSPUR

I cry you mercy.

WORCESTER Those same noble Scots

That are your prisoners—

HOTSPUR I’ll keep them all.

By God, he shall not have a Scot of them;

No, if a scot would save his soul he shall not.

I’ll keep them, by this hand.

WORCESTER You start away,

And lend no ear unto my purposes.

Those prisoners you shall keep.

HOTSPUR Nay, I will; that’s flat.

He said he would not ransom Mortimer,

Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer;

But I will find him when he lies asleep,

And in his ear I’ll hollo ‘Mortimerl’

Nay, I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak

Nothing but ‘Mortimer’, and give it him

To keep his anger still in motion.

WORCESTER Hear you, cousin, a word.

HOTSPUR

All studies here I solemnly defy,

Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke.

And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales—

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.

WORCESTER

Farewell, kinsman. I’ll talk to you

When you are better tempered to attend.

NORTHUMBERLAND (to Hotspur)

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 I

HOTSPUR

Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods,

Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear

Of this vile politician Bolingbroke.

In Richard’s time—what d‘ye call the place?

A plague upon’t, it is in Gloucestershire.

‘Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept—

His uncle York—where I first bowed my knee

Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke.

’Sblood, when you and he came back from

Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND

At Berkeley castle.

HOTSPUR 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’.