With like advantage on the other side; Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, And on this north side win this cape of land; And then he runs straight and even. Hot. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it. Glend. I will not have it alter'd. Hot. Will not you? Glend. No, nor you shall not. Hot. Who shall say me nay? Glend. Why, that will I. Hot. Let me not understand you then, Speak it in Welsh. Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you; For I was train'd up in the English court: Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it 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 turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, "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 the wives of your departure hence: I am afraid, my daughter will run mad, So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. Mort. Fye, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, He held me, but last night, at least nine hours, In reckoning up the several devils' names, That were his lackeys: I cried, 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 smoky house :-I had rather live Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; And curbs himself even of his natural scope, Might so have tempted him as you have done, Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: 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 har lotry, 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. I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, But I will never be a truant, love, [Lady M. speaks. Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue 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 Upon the wanton rushes lay you down, 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; 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 Music 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. Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. 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. 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; |