more. 'The purpose you undertake, is dangerous;' -why, that's certain : 't is 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 friends you have named, uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition.'Say you so, say you so I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is as good a plot as ever was laid; our friends true 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 the 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 divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the king: we are prepared. I will set forward to-night. Enter Lady PERCY. How now, Kate, I must leave you within these two hours. Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence bave I this fortnight been A banished woman from my Harry's bed? talked And thou hast Of sallies, and retires, of trenches, tents, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, Of prisoners ransomed, and of soldiers slain, Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, Hot. What, ho! Enter Servant. Is Gilliams with the packet gone? Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? Serv. It is, my lord. Hot. That roan shall be my throne. Well, I will back him straight: O, esperance! Lady. But hear you, my lord. Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? [Exit Servant. Lady. What is it carries you away ? Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse. A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen As you are tossed with. But in faith, I'll know— I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, Hot. Away, Away, you trifler !-Love?—I love thee not, And pass them current too.-God's me, my horse! What say'st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me? Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed? Well, do not then; for since you love me not, I will not love myself. Do you not love me? Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest or no? Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? No lady closer; for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,— And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. Lady. How! so far? Hot. Not an inch further. Kate: But hark you, Whither I go, thither shall you go too; Lady. It must of force. [Exeunt. |