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K. Henry. Thou dost belie him, Percy; thou beliest

him ;
He never did encounter with Glendower;
He durst as well have met the devil alone,
As Owen Glendower, for an enemy.
Art not ashamed ? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me,
As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son.
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.

[Exit K. Henry.
Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them. I will after straight,
And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,
Altho' it be with hazard of


head. North. What, drunk with choler? Stay and pause

Hot. Not speak of Mortimer ?
Yes, I will speak of him ; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him;
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust,
But I will lift thee down-trod Mortimer,
As high i' the air as this unthankful king,
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.
He said, he would not ransom Mortimer;

my tongue to speak of Mortimer ;
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll hollow Mortimer !
Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.

North. My son, 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;


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.

Hot. Father, adieu! Oh, let the hours be short, Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport.




Over. To my wish; we are private.
I come not to make offer with my daughter
A certain portion, that were poor and trivial ;
In one word, I pronounce al! that is mine,
In lands or leases, ready coin or goods,
With her, my lord, comes to you ; nor shall


have One motive, to induce you to believe I live too long, since every year I'll add Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too.

Lov. You are a right kind father.

OVER. You shall have reason To think me such. How do


like this seat?
It is well wooded and well watered, the acres
Fertile and rich; would it not serve, for change,
To entertain your friends in a summer progress ?
What thinks my noble lord ?

Lov. 'Tis a wholesome air
And well built pile ; and she that's mistress of it
Worthy the large revenue.

OVER. She the mistress !
It may
be so for a time: but let


lord Say only that he likes it, and would have it, I say, ere long 'tis his.

Lov. Impossible !

Over. You do conclude too fast, not knowing me, Nor the engines that I work by. 'Tis not alone

The lady Allworth's lands, for those once Wellborn's
(As by her dotage on him I know they will be,)
Shall soon be mine ; but point out any man's
In all the shire, and say they lie convenient,
And useful for your lordship, and once more

aloud, they are yours.
Lov. I dare not own
What's by unjust and cruel means extorted,
My fame and credit are more dear to me,
Than so to expose them to be censured by
The public voice.

OVER. You run, my lord, no hazard.
Your reputation shall stand as fair,
In all good men's opinions, as now;
Nor can my actions, though condemned for ill,
Cast any foul aspersion upon yours.
For, though I do contemn report myself,
As a mere sound, I still will be so tender
Of what concerns you, in all points of honour,
That the immaculate whiteness of your fame,
Nor your unquestioned integrity,
Shall e'er be sullied with one taint or spot
That may take from your innocence and candour.

ambition is to have my daughter Right honorable, which

my lord can make her ; And might I live to dance upon my

knee A young lord Lovell, born by her unto you, I write nil ultra to my proudest hopes. As for possessions, and annual rents, Equivalent to maintain you in the post Your noble birth and present state requires, I do remove that burthen from your shoulders, And take it on mine own: for though I ruin The country to supply your riotous waste, The scourge of prodigals, want shall never find you.

Lov. Are you not frighted with the imprecations And curses of whole families, made wretched By your sinister practices ?

OVER. Yes, as rocks are, When foamy billows split themselves against Their flinty ribs or as the moon is moved, When wolves, with hunger pinched, howl at her bright


I am of a solid temper, and, like these,
Steer on, a constant course : with my own sword,
If call’d into the field, I can make that right
Which fearful enemies murmur'd at as wrong.
Now; for these other piddling complaints
Breath'd out in bitterness; as when they call me
Extortioner, tyrant, cormorant, or intruder
On my poor neighbour's right, or grand encloser
Of what was common, to my private use;
Nay, when my ears are pierced with widows' cries,
And undone orphans wash with tears my threshold,
I only think what 'tis to have my daughter
Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm
Makes me insensible of remorse, or pity,
Or the least sting of conscience.

Lov. I admire
The toughness of your nature.

OVER. 'Tis for you,
My lord, and for my daughter, I am marble ;
Nay more, if you will have my character
In little, I enjoy more true delight
In my arrival to my wealth through these dark
And crooked ways, than you shall e'er take pleasure
In what my industry hath compass'd.
My haste commands me hence; in one word, therefore,
Is it a match ?

Loy. I hope that it is past doubt now.
OVER. Then rest secure; not the hate of all mankind

Nor fear of what can fall on me hereafter,
Shall make me study aught but your advancement
One story higher : an earl ! if gold can do it,
Dispute not my religion nor my faith;

Such a

Though I am borne thus headlong by my will,
You may make choice of what belief you please,
To me they are equal ; so, my lord, good morrow.

[Exit. Lov. He's gone. I wonder how the earth can bear

· I, that have lived a soldier,
And stood the enemy's violent charge undaunted,
To hear this blasphemous beast, am bath'd all over
In a cold sweat : yet, like a mountain, he
(Confirm'd in atheistical assertions)
Is no more shaken than Olympus is
When angry Boreas loads his double head
With sudden drifts of snow.

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LESSON I. THE NATURE OF TRUE ELOQUENCE, WHEN public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, farther than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labour and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot com

It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the

pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it; they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the out-breaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force.

The graces taught in the schools, the

pass it.

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