MORTIMER: Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!
HOTSPUR: 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
That were his lackeys: I cried 'hum,' and 'well, go to,'
But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious 
As a tired horse, a railing wife;
Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live
With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
In any summer-house in Christendom. 
MORTIMER: 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 come '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.
EARL OF WORCESTER: 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. 
HOTSPUR: 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.
MORTIMER: This is the deadly spite that angers me;
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
GLENDOWER: My daughter weeps: she will not part with you; 
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
MORTIMER: 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.]
GLENDOWER: She is desperate here;
a peevish self-will'd harlotry, one that no persuasion 
can do good upon.
[The lady speaks in Welsh.]
MORTIMER: I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh[The lady speaks again in Welsh.]
Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
In such a parley should 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.
GLENDOWER: Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
[The lady speaks again in Welsh.]
MORTIMER: O, I am ignorance itself in this!
GLENDOWER: 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 eyelids crown the god of sleep.
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,
Making the 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.
MORTIMER: With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing:
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn 
GLENDOWER: 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.
HOTSPUR: Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down:
come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap. 
LADY PERCY: Go, ye giddy goose.
[The music plays.]
HOTSPUR: Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous.
By'r lady, he is a good musician.
LADY PERCY: 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.
HOTSPUR: I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in
LADY PERCY: Wouldst thou have thy head broken? 
LADY PERCY: Then be still.
HOTSPUR: Neither; 'tis a woman's fault.
LADY PERCY: Now God help thee!
HOTSPUR: To the Welsh lady's bed. 
LADY PERCY: What's that?
HOTSPUR: Peace! she sings.
[Here the lady sings a Welsh song.]
HOTSPUR: Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.
LADY PERCY: Not mine, in good sooth.
HOTSPUR: 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 givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,
As if thou never walk'st further than Finsbury. 
Swear me, Kate, like a lady 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 PERCY: I will not sing.
HOTSPUR: 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast[Exit.]
teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away
within these two hours; and so come in when ye will.
GLENDOWER: 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.