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He held me last night, at least, nine houres,
In reckning vp thc feuerall diuels names.
That were his lackies : I cried hum, and well, go to,
But markt him not a word; O, he is as tedious
As a tyred horse, a rayling wife,
Worse then a smokie house. I had rather liue
With cheese and garlicke in a windinill farre,
Then feed on cates, and haue him talke to me,
In any summer-house in Christendome.
Mor. In fayth he was a worthy gentleman,
Exceeding well read and profited
In strange concealements, valiant as a lion,
And wondrous affable, and as bountifull
As mines of India : shall I tell you, coofen,
He holdes your temper in a high respect,
And curbs himselfe, euen of his naturall scope,
When you come crosse his humour, fayth he does :
I warrant you, that man is not aliue.
Might so haue tempted him, as you haue done,
Without the taste of danger and reproofe:
But doe not vse it oft, let me intreat you.
Wor. In fayth, my lord, you are too wilfull blame,
And since your comming hither, haue done enough
To put him quite besides his patience :
You must needes learne, lord, to amend this fault,
Though sometimes it few greatnesse, courage, blood,
And thats the dearest grace it renders you :
Yet often times it doth present harsh rage,
Defect of manners, want of gouernment,
Pride, hautinesle, opinion, and disdaine;
The least of which, haunting a nobleman,
Loseth mens heartes, and leaues behind a staine
Vpon the beautie of all partes besides,
Feguiling them of commendation.
Hot. Well, I am schoold, good-manners be your speed, Heere come your wives, and let vs take our leaue.
Enter Glendower, with the ladyes.
Mor. This is the deadly spight that angers me,
My wife can speake no English, I no Wellb.
Glen. My daughter wecpes, sheele not part with
you, Sheele be a souldier too, sheele to the warres.
Mor. Good father tell her, that she, and my aunt Percy, Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
Glendower Speakes to her in Welsh, and she answeres him in
Glen. She is desperat heere, A peeuilh felfe-wild harlotry, one that no perswasion can doe good vpon.
The lady speakes in Welsh.
Mor. I vnderstand thy lookes, that prety Welb,
Which thou powrest downe from these swelling heauens,
I am to * perfect in, and but for shame
In such a parley should I answere thee.
The lady againe in Welsh.
Mor. I vnderstand thy kisses, and thou mine,
And thats a feeling disputation:
But I will neuer be a truant loue,
Till I haue Icarnd thy language, for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly pend,
Sung by a faire queene in a summers bowre,
With rauishing diuifion to her lute.
Glen. Nay, if thou melt, then will the runne mad.
The lady speakes againe in Wellh.
Mor. O, I am ingnorance it felfe in this.
Glen. She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you downe, And rest your gentle head vpon her lap, And she will fing the song that pleaseth you, And on your eyelids crowne the god of sleepe, Charming your bloud with pleasing heauinefle Making such difference betwixt wake and sleepe, As is the difference betwixt day and night, The houre before the heauerly harnelt teeme Begins his golden progresse in the cast.
Mor. With all my heart Ile fit and heare her fing, By that time will our booke I thinke be drawne.
Glen. Do so, and those musitions that shall play to you, Hang in the ayre a thousand leagues from thence *, And Itraight they shall be here, fit and attend.
Hot. Come Kate, thou art perfect in lying downe : Come, quicke, quicke, that I may lay my head in thy lap. La. Go, ye giddy goose.
The musicke playes.
Hot. Now I perceiue the diuell vnderstands Welsh,
And t'is no maruell he is so humorous,
Birlady he is a good musition.
La. Then would you be nothing but musicall,
For you are altogether gouerned † by humors :
Lie ftill ye thiefe, and heare the lady fing in Welsb.
Hot. I had rather heare Lady, my brach howle in Irish.
La. Would'st hare thy head broken?
La. Then be fill.
Hot. Neither, t'is a womans fault.
La. Now God helpe thee.
Hot. To the Wellb ladies bed.
La. What's that?
Hot. Peace, she sings.
Here the lady fings a Welsh song.
Hot. Come, Ile haue your song too.
La. Not mine in good sooth.
Hot. Not yours in good footh ? hart you sweare like a com-
fitmakers wife, not you in good footh, and as true as I liue,
and a: God shall mend ine, and as sure as day:
And giuelt luch sarcenet furety for thy othes,
As it thou never walkít further then Firsburie:
Sweare me Kate, like a lady as thou art,
A good mouth-filling oath, and leaue in sooth,
And such protest of pepper ginger-bread,
To veluet gards, and sunday-citizens.
La. I will not sing.
Hot. Tis the next way to turne tayler, or be red-brest teacher; and the indentures be drawne, Ile away within these 2. houres, and so come in when ye will.
Glen. Comc, come, lord Mortimer, you are flow,
As hot lord Percy is on fire to go.
By this our booke is drawne, weele but feale,
And then to horse immediatiy.
Mor. With all my heart,
Enter the king, prince of Wales, and other.
King. Lords, give vs leaue, the prince of Wales and I,
Must baue fome priuate conference, but be neere at hand,
For we shall presently hauc need of you. Exeunt lords.
I know not whether God will haue it so,
For some displeasing feruice I haue done,
That in his secret doome, out of my blood,
Hee'le breed reuengement and a scourge for me:
But thou dost in the passages of life,
Make me beleeue, that thou art onely mark'd
For the hot vengeance, and the rod of heauen,
To punish my mistreadinges. Tell me else
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poore, such bare, such lewd, such meane attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude societie,
As thou art matcht withall, and grafted to,
Accompany the greatnes of thy blood,
And hold their leuell with thy princely heart?
Prin. So please your maiestie, I would I could
Quit all offences with as cleare excuse,
As well as I am doubtlefle I can purge
My felfe of many I am charg'd withall :
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
As in reproofe of many tales deuilde,
Which oft the eare of greatnes needes must heare
By smiling pick-thankes, and base newes-mongers,
I may for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wandred, and irregular
Finde pardon on my true submission.
King. God pardon thee; yet let me wonder, Harry,
At thy affections, which doe hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy auncestors :
Thy place in counsell thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supplide;
And art almost an alien to the heartes
Of all the court and princes of my bloud,
The hope and expectation of thy time,