Have I not all
their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month,
and are they not some of them set forward already?
their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month,
and are they not some of them set forward already?
Shakespeare
In respect of the love he bears
our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better than he
loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose you undertake
is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a
cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of
this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The purpose
you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain,
the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the
counterpoise of so great an opposition. ' Say you so, say you so?
I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you
lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good
plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good
plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot,
very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my
Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the
action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him
with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and
myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen
Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas?
Have I not all
their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month,
and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan
rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very
sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay open
all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets
for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action!
Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set
forward to-night.
Enter his Lady.
How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.
Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed,
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better than he
loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose you undertake
is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a
cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of
this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The purpose
you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain,
the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the
counterpoise of so great an opposition. ' Say you so, say you so?
I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you
lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good
plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good
plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot,
very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my
Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the
action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him
with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and
myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen
Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas?
Have I not all
their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month,
and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan
rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very
sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay open
all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets
for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action!
Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set
forward to-night.
Enter his Lady.
How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.
Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed,
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
