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-wind harlotry,
one that no persuasion can do good upon.
[The lady speaks in Welsh]
MORTIMER I understand thy looks: that pretty 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.
[The lady speaks again in Welsh]
I understand thy kisses and thou mine,
And that's a feeling disputation:
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learned 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 such 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.
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