Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of't with all my heart; I had rather be a kitten, and cry-mew, Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: I had rather hear a brazen canstick 58 turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poy;

'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.

Hot. I do not care; I'll give thrice so much land

To any well-deserving friend.

But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me,

I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.

Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?

Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night:

I'll haste the writer, and, withal,

Break with your wives of your departure hence :

I am afraid, my daughter will run mad,
So much she doteth on her Mortimer.

[Exit.

Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! - Hot. I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me, With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant", Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies; And of a dragon, and a finless fish, A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, A couching lion, and a ramping cat, And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,— He held me, but last night, at least nine hours,

In reckoning up the several devils' names,

That were his lackeys: I cry'd, humph,-and well,

-go to,

But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious

As is a tired horse, a railing wife;

Worse than a smoaky house :-I had rather live
With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me,
any summerhouse in Christendom.

In

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.

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-will'd 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

heavens,

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.

Glend. She bids you

61

Upon the wanton rushes 1 lay you down,

And rest your gentle head upon
her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,
And on your eyelids 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 sing; 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 govern'd by humours. Lie still, ye

thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. 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.