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P. Hen. What men?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord; A gross fat man.


As fat as butter.

P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here; For I myself at this time have employ'd him. And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing he shall be charg'd withal: And so let me entreat you leave the house. Sher. I will, my lord: There are two gentlemen Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb'd these men, He shall be answerable; and so, farewell. Sher. Good night, my noble lord.

P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; Is it not? Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier.. P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go, call him forth.

Poins. Falstaff!-fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: Search his pockets. [POINS searches.] What hast thou found? Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord.

P. Hen. Let's see what they be: read them.
Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d.

Item, Sauce, 4d.

Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.

Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.

Item, Bread, a halfpenny.

P. Hen. O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of

bread to this intolerable deal of sack!-What there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more advantage: there let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and, I know, his death will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good morrow, Poins.

Poins. Good morrow, good my lord.



SCENE I.-Bangor. A room in the Archdeacon's house

Enter HOTSPUr, Worcester, Mortimer, and

Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our induction full of prosperous hope.

Hot. Lord Mortimer,—and cousin Glendower,

Will you sit down?

And, uncle Worcester:-A plague upon it!
I have forgot the map.


No, here it is.

Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur:

For by that name as oft as Lancaster

Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale; and, with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven

Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears
Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets; and, at my birth,
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.


Why, so it would have done At the same season, if your mother's cat had

But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born.
Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born.
Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind,
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook.

Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.

Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,

And not in fear of your nativity.

Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth

In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colick pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind

Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth,
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
In passion shook.


Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again,-that at my birth,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.

These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
And all the courses of my life do show,
I am not in the roll of common men.

Where is he living,—clipp'd in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,-
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but woman's son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,
And hold me pace in deep experiments.

Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better Welsh :-
I will to dinner.

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Hot. Why, so can I; or so can any man:
But will they come, when you do call for them?
Glend. Why,

The devil.

can teach you, cousin, to command

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth, and shame the devil.— If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. Mort. Come, come,

No more of this unprofitable chat.

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made

Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye,
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him,
́Bootless home, and weather-beaten back.

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too! How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?

Glend. Come, here's the map; Shall we divide our right, According to our three-fold order ta'en?

Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it
Into three limits, very equally:

England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
By south and east, is to my part assign'd:
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
And all the fertile land within that bound,
To Owen Glendower:-and, dear coz, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn:
Which being sealed interchangeably,

(A business that this night may execute,)
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I,
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth,
To meet your father, and the Scottish power,
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.

My father Glendower is not ready yet,

Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days :Within that space, [To GLEND.] you may have drawn


Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.
Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords,
And in my conduct shall your ladies come:

From whom you now must steal, and take no leave;
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:

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