King Henry IV. William Hazlitt

I have done, i’faith.

      WOR.

       Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.

       Deliver them up without their ransom straight,

       And make the Douglas’ son your only mean

       For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons

       Which I shall send you written, be assured,

       Will easily be granted.—

       [To Northumberland.] You, my lord,

       Your son in Scotland being thus employ’d,

       Shall secretly into the bosom creep

       Of that same noble prelate, well beloved,

       Th’ Archbishop.

      HOT.

       Of York, is’t not?

      WOR.

       True; who bears hard

       His brother’s death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop.

       I speak not this in estimation,

       As what I think might be, but what I know

       Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,

       And only stays but to behold the face

       Of that occasion that shall bring it on.

      HOT.

       I smell’t: upon my life, it will do well.

      NORTH.

       Before the game’s a-foot, thou still lett’st slip.

      HOT.

       Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot:—

       And then the power of Scotland and of York

       To join with Mortimer, ha?

      WOR.

       And so they shall.

      HOT.

       In faith, it is exceedingly well aim’d.

      WOR.

       And ‘tis no little reason bids us speed,

       To save our heads by raising of a head;

       For, bear ourselves as even as we can,

       The King will always think him in our debt,

       And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,

       Till he hath found a time to pay us home:

       And see already how he doth begin

       To make us strangers to his looks of love.

      HOT.

       He does, he does: we’ll be revenged on him.

      WOR.

       Cousin, farewell: no further go in this

       Than I by letters shall direct your course.

       When time is ripe,— which will be suddenly,—

       I’ll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer;

       Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once,

       As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,

       To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,

       Which now we hold at much uncertainty.

      NORTH.

       Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.

      HOT.

       Uncle, adieu: O, let the hours be short,

       Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!

      [Exeunt.]

      ACT II.

       Table of Contents

      SCENE I.

       Rochester. An Inn-Yard.

       Table of Contents

      [Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.]

      1. CAR.

       Heigh-ho! an’t be not four by the day, I’ll be hang’d:

       Charles’ wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse’ not

       pack’d.—What, ostler!

      OST. [within.] Anon, anon.

      1. CAR. I pr’ythee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

      [Enter another Carrier.]

      2. CAR. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots; this house is turned upside down since Robin ostler died.

      1. CAR. Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death of him.

      2. CAR. I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.

      1. CAR. Like a tench! by the Mass, there is ne’er a king in Christendom could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.—What, ostler! come away and be hang’d; come away.

      2. CAR. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.

      1. CAR. ‘Odsbody! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.—What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An ‘twere not as good a deed as drink to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hang’d: hast no faith in thee?

      [Enter Gadshill.]

      GADS.

       Good morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock?

      1. CAR. I think it be two o’clock.

      GADS. I pr’ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable.

      1. CAR. Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that, i’faith.

      GADS.

       I pr’ythee, lend me thine.

      2. CAR. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth a? marry, I’ll see thee hang’d first.

      GADS.

       Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

      2. CAR.

       Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.—

       Come, neighbour Muggs, we’ll call up the gentlemen: they will

       along with company, for they have great charge.

      [Exeunt Carriers.]

      GADS.

       What, ho! chamberlain!

      CHAM.

       [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse.

      GADS. That’s even as fair as—at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking of purses than giving direction doth from labouring; thou lay’st the plot how.

      [Enter Chamberlain.]

      CHAM. Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you yesternight: there’s a franklin in the wild of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already, and call for eggs and butter; they will away presently.

      GADS. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll give thee this neck.

      CHAM.