For there will be a world of water shed,

Upon the parting of your wives and you.

Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here,
In quantity equals not one of yours.
See, how this river comes me cranking in,
And cuts me from the best of all my land
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.
I'll have the current in this place damm'd up,
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run,
In a new channel, fair and evenly:

It shall not wind with such a deep indent,

To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

Glend. Not wind? it shall; it must: you see, it doth.

Mort. Yea, but mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up

With like advantage on the other side;

Gelding the opposed continent, as much

As on the other side it takes from you.

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.

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 the axle-tree;
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry.

'T is 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.

Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father.
Hot. I cannot choose: sometime 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, last night, at least nine hours,
In reckoning up the several devils' names,

[Exit.

That were his lackeys: I cried, "humph," and "well, go to," But mark'd him not a word. O! he's as tedious

As a tired horse, a railing wife;

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

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments; valiant as a lion

And wondrous 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 her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same.

Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd harlotry,

one

That no persuasion can do good upon.

[She 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,

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.

[She speaks again.

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

Mort. O! I am ignorance itself in this.

[She speaks again.

Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down,

And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,
And on your eye-lids 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;
And 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.

[The Music Plays.

Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh;

And 't is no marvel, he is 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. Would'st thou have thy head broken?

Hot. No.

Lady P. Then be still.

Hot. Neither; 't is 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 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 farther than Finsbury.

Swear me, Kate, like a ladely as thou art,
A good-mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth,
And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,
To velvet-guards, and Sunday-citizens.
Come, sing.

Lady P. I will not sing.

Hot. 'T is the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so come in when ye will.

[Exit.

Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer; you are as slow,

As hot lord Percy is on fire to go.

By this our book is drawn: we'll but seal, and then

To horse immediately.

Mort.

With all my heart.

[Exeunt.