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Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me,
In any summer-house in Christendom.

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments;? valiant as a lion,
And wond'rous 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.,
Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-

blame; 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. Hot. Well, I am school'd; good manners be your

speed ! Here come our wives, and let us take our leave,

In strange concealments ;) Skilled in wonderful secrets,

opinion,] means here self-epinion, or conceit.


Re-enter GLENDOWER, with the Ladies. Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me, My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

Glend. My daughter weeps ; she will not part

with you,

She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
Mort. Good father, tell her,--that she, and my

aunt Percy, Shall follow in your conduct speedily, [GLENDOWER speaks to his daughter in Welsh,

and she answers him in the same. Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish self-willid

harlotry, One no persuasion can do good upon.

[Lady M. speaks to MORTIMER in Welsh. . Mort. I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pourest down from these swelling hea


I am too perfect in'; and, but for shame,
In such a parley would I answer thee.

[Lady M. speaks.
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,"
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

[Lady M. speaks again. Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this.

4 a feeling disputation : ] i. e, à contest of sensibility, a reciprocation in which we engage on equal terms.

s With ravishing division, to her lute.] Divisions were very uncommon in vocal musick during the time of Shakspeare. BURNEY.

Glend. She bids

you Upon 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 eye-lids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ; Making such difference 'twixt 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. Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her

By that time will our book," I think, be drawn.

Glend. Do so;
And those musicians that shall play to you,
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence ;
Yet straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: Come, quick, quick ; that I may lay my head in thy lap.

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.

GLENDOWER speaks some Welsh words, and then the

Musick plays. · Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh; And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous. By'r-lady he's a good musician.

Lady P. 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.

Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep,] She will lull you by her song into soft tranquillity, in which you shall be so near to sleep as to be free from perturbation, and so much awake as to be sensible of pleasure; a state partaking of sleep and wakefulness, as the twilight of night and day. JOHNSON.

our book,] Our paper of conditions,


Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach howl in Irish.

Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken?
Hot. No.
Lady P. Then be still.
Hot. Neither ; 'tis a woman's fault.
Lady P. Now God help thee !
Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.
Lady P. What's that?
Hot. Peace! she sings.

A Welsh SONG sung by Lady M. Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth; and, As true as I live; and, As God shall mend me; and, As sure as day : And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, As if thou never 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 P. I will not sing,

Hot. '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.

As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury.] Open walks and fields near Chiswell-street, London-wall, by Moorgate; the common resort of the citizens, as appears from many of our ancient comedies.

velvet-guards,] To such as have their clothes adorned with shreds of velvet, which was, I suppose, the finery of cock, neys. Johnson,


Glend. 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. Mort.

With all




London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King HENRY, Prince of Wales, and Lords. K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales

and I, Must have some conference: But be near at hand, For we shall presently have need of you.

(Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether God will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done,
That in his secret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
But thou dost, in thy passages of life,
Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven,
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate, and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, such lew'd, such mean at-

Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart?

our book's drawn ;] i. e. our articles. Every composition, whether play, ballad, or history, was called a book, on the registers of ancient publications.

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