GLENDOWER

No here it is; fit Cousin Percy, fit good Cousin Hotspur, for by that name as oft as Lancaster does speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with a rising sighs he wishes you in heaven. I cannot blame him; at my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes Of burning cressets, and at my birth The fram and huge foundation of the earth Shaked Like a coward. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble, 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 heards Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. These signs have marked me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men: Where is he living clipped 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. I can call spirits from the vam lie deep. Why I can teach you cousin to command the Devil Three times hath Henry Bullenbrooke made head Against my power, thrice from the banks of Wye, And sandy bottomed Severn have I sent him Booteles home, and weather beaten back. Come here is the map, shall we divide our right? According to our three fold order taken. 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. Not wind it shall, it must, you see it does. I'll not have it altered. No nor you shall not. Why that will I. I can speak English Lord as well as you, For I was trained up in the English court, Where being but young I framed to the harp Many and English ditty lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpeful ornament, A virtue that was never seen in you. Come, you shall have Trent turned. 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 dotes on her Mortimer. Exit She is desperate here, A peevish self wild harlotry, one that no persuasion can do good upon. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. 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 pleases you, And on your eyelids crown the God of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep, As is the difference betwixt day and night, The hour before the heavenly harnessed teem Begins his golden progress in the east. Do so, & those musicians that shall play to you, Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence, And straight they shall be here, fit and attend. Come come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slow, As Hight. Lord Percy is on fire to go: By this our book is drawn, weel but seal, And then to horse immediately. I say arth did shake when I was born. My daughter weeps, sheele not partly with you, Sheele be a soldier to, sheele to the wars.