Act 2 - Scene 3
Enter HOTSPUR, solus, reading a letter
'But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well
contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear
house.' He could be contented: why is he not,
then? In respect of the love he bears our house:
in this, he loves his own barn better than
he loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The
undertake is dangerous;'why, that's
certain: 'tis 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, safety. 'The
purpose you undertake is dangerous; the
have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and
your whole plot too light for the counterpoise
great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so? I say
unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind,
you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord,
our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our
and constant: a good plot, good
friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot,
very good friends. What
a frosty-spirited rogue is
this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot and the
general course of action.
'Zounds, an I were now by
this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan.
Is there not my father, my
uncle and myself? lord
Edmund Mortimer, My lord of York and Owen Glendower?
is there not besides
the Douglas? have I not all
their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the
next month? and are they
not some of them set
forward already? 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
and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of
skim milk with so honourable an action! Hang
let him tell the king: we are prepared. I will set
Enter LADY PERCY
How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.
O, my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish'd woman
from my Harry's bed?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure and thy
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
musing and cursed melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur
tales of iron wars;
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;
Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
Of basilisks, of cannon,
Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain,
And all the currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within
thee hath been so at war
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood
upon thy brow
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream;
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Is Gilliams with the packet gone?
He is, my lord, an hour ago.
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