# Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The First Part of King Henry the Fourth/Act 2 Scene 3

Scœna Tertia.
Enter Clowne and Awdrie.
Enter Hotspurre solus, reading a Letter. But for mine owne part, my Lord. I could bee well contented to be there, in respect of the loue I beare your house.
He could be contented: Why is he not then? in respect of the loue he beares our house. He shewes in this, he loues his owne Barne better then he loues our house. Let me see some more. The purpose you vndertake is dangerous. Why that's certaine: 'Tis dangerous to take a Colde, to sleepe, to drinke: but I tell you (my Lord foole) out of this Nettle, Danger; we plucke this Flower, Safety. The purpose you vndertake is dangerous, the Friends you haue named vncertaine, the Time it selfe vnsorted, and your whole Plot too light, for the counterpoize of so great an Opposition. Say you so, say you so: I say vnto you againe, you are a shallow cowardly Hinde, and you Lye. What a lackebraine is this? I protest, our plot is as good a plot as euer was laid; our Friend true and constant: A good Plotte, good Friends, and full of expectation: An excellent plot, very good Friends. What a Frosty-spirited rogue is this? Why, my Lord of Yorke commends the plot, and the generall course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this Rascall, I could braine him with his Ladies Fan. Is there not my Father, my Vncle, and my Selfe, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of Yorke, and Owen Glendour? Is there not besides, the Dowglas? Haue I not all their letters, to meete me in Armes by the ninth of the next Moneth? and are they not some of them set forward already? What a Pagan Rascall is this? An Infidell. Ha, you shall see now in very sincerity of Feare and Cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could diuide my selfe, and go to buffets, for mouing such a dish of skim'd Milk with so honourable an Action. Hang him, let him tell the King we are prepared. I will set forwards to night.
Enter his Lady.
How now Kate, I must leaue you within these two hours.
La.
O my good Lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence haue I this fortnight bin A banish'd woman from my Harries bed? Tell me (sweet Lord) what is't that takes from thee Thy stomacke, pleasure, and thy golden sleepe? Why dost thou bend thine eyes vpon the earth? And start so often when thou sitt'st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheekes? And giuen my Treasures and my rights of thee, To thicke-ey'd musing, and curst melancholly? In my faint-slumbers, I by thee haue watcht, And heard thee murmore tales of Iron Warres: Speake tearmes of manage to thy bounding Steed, Cry courage to the field. And thou hast talk'd Of Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents, Of Palizadoes, Frontiers, Parapets, Of Basiliskes, of Canon, Culuerin, Of Prisoners ransome, and of Souldiers slaine, And all the current of a headdy fight. Thy spirit within thee hath beene so at Warre, And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleepe, That beds of sweate hath stood vpon thy Brow, Like bubbles in a late-disturbed Streame; And in thy face strange motions haue appear'd, Such as we see when men restraine their breath On some great sodaine hast. O what portents are these? Some heauie businesse hath my Lord in hand, And I must know it: else he loues me not.
Hot.
What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone?
Ser.
He is my Lord, an houre agone.
Hot.
Hath Butler brought those horses from the Sheriffe?
Ser.
One horse, my Lord, he brought euen now.
Hot.
What Horse? A Roane, a crop eare, is it not.
Ser.
It is my Lord.
Hot.
That Roane shall be my Throne. Well, I will backe him straight. Esperance, bid Butler lead him forth into the Parke.
La.
But heare you, my lord.
Hot.
What say'st thou my Lady?
La.
What is it carries you away?
Hot.
Why, my horse (my Loue) my horse.
La.
Out you mad-headed Ape, a Weazell hath not such a deale of Spleene, as you are tost with. In sooth Ile know your businesse Harry, that I will. I feare my Brother Mortimer doth stirre about his Title, and hath sent for you to line his enterprize. But if you go———
Hot.
So farre a foot, I shall be weary, Loue.
La.
Come, come, you Paraquito, answer me directly vnto this question, that I shall aske. Indeede Ile breake thy little finger Harry, if thou wilt not tel me true.
Hot.
Away, away you trifler: Loue, I loue thee not, I care not for thee Kate: this is no world To play with Mammets, and to tilt with lips. We must haue bloodie Noses, and crack'd Crownes, And passe them currant too. Gods me, my horse. What say'st thou Kate? what wold'st thou haue with me?
La.
Do ye not loue me? Do ye not indeed? Well, do not then. For since you loue me not, I will not loue my selfe. Do you not loue me? Nay, tell me if thou speak'st in iest, or no.
Hot.
Come, wilt thou see me ride? And when I am a horsebacke, I will sweare I loue thee infinitely. But hearke you Kate, I must not haue you henceforth, question me, Whether I go: nor reason whereabout. Whether I must, I must: and to conclude, This Euening must I leaue thee, gentle Kate. I know you wise, but yet no further wise Then Harry Percies wife. Constant you are, But yet a woman: and for secrecie, No Lady closer. For I will beleeue Thou wilt not vtter what thou do'st not know, And so farre wilt I trust thee, gentle Kate.
La.
How so farre?
Hot.
Not an inch further. But harke you Kate, Whither I go, thither shall you go too: To day will I set forth, to morrow you. Will this content you Kate?
La.
It must of force. Exeunt.
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