---

Скачать книгу

---

mountains let him starve;

       For I shall never hold that man my friend

       Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost

       To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

       HOT.

       Revolted Mortimer!

       He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,

       But by the chance of war: to prove that true

       Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,

       Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,

       When on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank,

       In single opposition, hand to hand,

       He did confound the best part of an hour

       In changing hardiment with great Glendower.

       Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink,

       Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood;

       Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,

       Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,

       And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank

       Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.

       Never did base and rotten policy

       Colour her working with such deadly wounds;

       Nor never could the noble Mortimer

       Receive so many, and all willingly:

       Then let not him be slander’d with revolt.

       KING.

       Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him;

       He never did encounter with Glendower:

       I tell thee,

       He durst as well have met the Devil alone

       As Owen Glendower for an enemy.

       Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth

       Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer:

       Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,

       Or you shall hear in such a kind from me

       As will displease you.—My Lord Northumberland,

       We license your departure with your son.—

       Send us your prisoners, or you’ll hear of it.

       [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train.]

       HOT.

       An if the Devil come and roar for them,

       I will not send them: I will after straight,

       And tell him so; for I will else my heart,

       Although it be with hazard of my head.

       NORTH.

       What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile:

       Here comes your uncle.

       [Re-enter Worcester.]

       HOT.

       Speak of Mortimer!

       Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul

       Want mercy, if I do not join with him:

       Yea, on his part I’ll empty all these veins,

       And shed my dear blood drop by drop i’ the dust,

       But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer

       As high i’ the air as this unthankful King,

       As this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke.

       NORTH.

       [To Worcester.]

       Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.

       WOR.

       Who struck this heat up after I was gone?

       HOT.

       He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;

       And when I urged the ransom once again

       Of my wife’s brother, then his cheek look’d pale,

       And on my face he turn’d an eye of death,

       Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.

       WOR.

       I cannot blame him: was not he proclaim’d

       By Richard that dead is the next of blood?

       NORTH.

       He was; I heard the proclamation:

       And then it was when the unhappy King—

       Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth

       Upon his Irish expedition;

       From whence he intercepted did return

       To be deposed, and shortly murdered.

       WOR.

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

       Live scandalized and foully spoken of.

       HOT.

       But, soft! I pray you; did King Richard then

       Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer

       Heir to the crown?

       NORTH.

       He did; myself did hear it.

       HOT.

       Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin King,

       That wish’d 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 fool’d, discarded, and shook off

       By him for whom these shames ye underwent?

       No! yet time serves, wherein you may redeem

       Your banish’d honours, and restore yourselves

       Into the good thoughts of the world again;

       Revenge the jeering and disdain’d 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,—

       WOR.

       Peace, cousin, say no more:

       And now I will unclasp a secret book,

       And to your quick-conceiving discontent

       I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous;

       As full of peril and adventurous spirit

       As to o’er-walk a current roaring loud

       On

---

Скачать книгу