Philip Weller caricature
Philip and Weller hugging

Welcome to my web site, now under development for more than twenty years.   
-- Philip Weller, November 13, 1941 - February 1, 2021
Dr. Weller, an Eastern Washington University professor of English and Shakespearean scholar for more than 50 years.

The First Part of Henry IV:

Act 3, Scene 1

           Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER,

  1   These promises are fair, the parties sure,
  2   And our induction full of prosperous hope.

  3   Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,
  4   Will you sit down?
  5   And uncle Worcester: a plague upon it!
  6   I have forgot the map.

  6                                     No, here it is.
  7   Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
  8   For by that name as oft as Lancaster
  9   Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale and with
 10   A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.

 11   And you in hell, as oft as he hears
 12   Owen Glendower spoke of.

 13   I cannot blame him: at my nativity
 14   The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
 15   Of burning cressets; and at my birth
 16   The frame and huge foundation of the earth
 17   Shaked like a coward.

 17                                     Why, so it would have done
 18   At the same season, if your mother's cat had
 19   But kitten'd, though yourself had never been born.

 20   I say the earth did shake when I was born.

 21   And I say the earth was not of my mind,
 22   If you suppose as fearing you it shook.

 23   The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.

 24   O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
 25   And not in fear of your nativity.
 26   Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
 27   In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth
 28   Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
 29   By the imprisoning of unruly wind
 30   Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,
 31   Shakes the old beldam earth and topples down
 32   Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth
 33   Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
 34   In passion shook.

 34                               Cousin, of many men
 35   I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
 36   To tell you once again that at my birth
 37   The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
 38   The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
 39   Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
 40   These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
 41   And all the courses of my life do show
 42   I am not in the roll of common men.
 43   Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea
 44   That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,
 45   Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me?
 46   And bring him out that is but woman's son
 47   Can trace me in the tedious ways of art
 48   And hold me pace in deep experiments.

 49   I think there's no man speaks better Welsh.
 50   I'll to dinner.

 51   Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.

 52   I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

 53   Why, so can I, or so can any man;
 54   But will they come when you do call for them?

 55   Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command
 56   The devil.

 57   And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil
 58   By telling truth: tell truth and shame the devil.
 59   If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
 60   And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.
 61   O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!

 62   Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.

 63   Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
 64   Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye
 65   And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him
 66   Bootless home and weather-beaten back.

 67   Home without boots, and in foul weather too!
 68   How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?

 69   Come, here's the map: shall we divide our right
 70   According to our threefold order ta'en?

 71   The Archdeacon hath divided it
 72   Into three limits very equally:
 73   England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
 74   By south and east is to my part assign'd:
 75   All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
 76   And all the fertile land within that bound,
 77   To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you
 78   The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
 79   And our indentures tripartite are drawn;
 80   Which being sealed interchangeably,
 81   A business that this night may execute,
 82   tomorrow, cousin Percy, you and I
 83   And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
 84   To meet your father and the Scottish power,
 85   As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
 86   My father Glendower is not ready yet,
 87   Not shall we need his help these fourteen days.
 88   Within that space you may have drawn together
 89   Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentlemen.

 90   A shorter time shall send me to you, lords:
 91   And in my conduct shall your ladies come;
 92   From whom you now must steal and take no leave,
 93   For there will be a world of water shed
 94   Upon the parting of your wives and you.

 95   Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,
 96   In quantity equals not one of yours:
 97   See how this river comes me cranking in,
 98   And cuts me from the best of all my land
 99   A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.
100   I'll have the current in this place damm'd up;
101   And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
102   In a new channel, fair and evenly;
103   It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
104   To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

105   Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth.

106   Yea, but
107   Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up
108   With like advantage on the other side;
109   Gelding the opposed continent as much
110   As on the other side it takes from you.

111   Yea, but a little charge will trench him here
112   And on this north side win this cape of land;
113   And then he runs straight and even.

114   I'll have it so: a little charge will do it.

115   I'll not have it alter'd.

115                                       Will not you?

116   No, nor you shall not.

116                                   Who shall say me nay?

117   Why, that will I.

117                           Let me not understand you, then;
118   Speak it in Welsh.

119   I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
120   For I was train'd up in the English court;
121   Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
122   Many an English ditty lovely well
123   And gave the tongue a helpful ornament,
124   A virtue that was never seen in you.

125   Marry,
126   And I am glad of it with all my heart:
127   I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
128   Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers;
129   I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd,
130   Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree;
131   And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
132   Nothing so much as mincing poetry:
133   'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.

134   Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.

135   I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land
136   To any well-deserving friend;
137   But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
138   I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
139   Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone?

140   The moon shines fair; you may away by night:
141   I'll haste the writer and withal
142   Break with your wives of your departure hence:
143   I am afraid my daughter will run mad,
144   So much she doteth on her Mortimer.


145   Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!

146   I cannot choose: sometime he angers me
147   With telling me of the mouldwarp and the ant,
148   Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,
149   And of a dragon and a finless fish,
150   A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven,
151   A couching lion and a ramping cat,
152   And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
153   As puts me from my faith. I tell you what;
154   He held me last night at least nine hours
155   In reckoning up the several devils' names
156   That were his lackeys: I cried 'hum,' and 'well, go to,'
157   But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious
158   As a tired horse, a railing wife;
159   Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live
160   With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,
161   Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
162   In any summer-house in Christendom.

163   In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,
164   Exceedingly well read, and profited
165   In strange concealments, valiant as a lion
166   And as wondrous affable and as bountiful
167   As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
168   He holds your temper in a high respect
169   And curbs himself even of his natural scope
170   When you come 'cross his humour; faith, he does:
171   I warrant you, that man is not alive
172   Might so have tempted him as you have done,
173   Without the taste of danger and reproof:
174   But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.

175   In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;
176   And since your coming hither have done enough
177   To put him quite beside his patience.
178   You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:
179   Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,—
180   And that's the dearest grace it renders you,—
181   Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
182   Defect of manners, want of government,
183   Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain:
184   The least of which haunting a nobleman
185   Loseth men's hearts and leaves behind a stain
186   Upon the beauty of all parts besides,
187   Beguiling them of commendation.

188   Well, I am school'd: good manners be your speed!
189   Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

           Enter GLENDOWER with the LADIES.

190   This is the deadly spite that angers me;
191   My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

192   My daughter weeps: she will not part with you;
193   She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

194   Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy
195   Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

           Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she
           answers him in the same.

196   She is desperate here; a peevish self-wind harlotry,
197   one that no persuasion can do good upon.

           The lady speaks in Welsh.

198   I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh
199   Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens
200   I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
201   In such a parley should I answer thee.

           The lady again in Welsh.

202   I understand thy kisses and thou mine,
203   And that's a feeling disputation:
204   But I will never be a truant, love,
205   Till I have learned thy language; for thy tongue
206   Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
207   Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
208   With ravishing division, to her lute.

209   Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

           The lady speaks again in Welsh.

210   O, I am ignorance itself in this!

211   She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down
212   And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
213   And she will sing the song that pleaseth you
214   And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep.
215   Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,
216   Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep
217   As is the difference betwixt day and night
218   The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
219   Begins his golden progress in the east.

220   With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing:
221   By that time will our book, I think, be drawn

222   Do so;
223   And those musicians that shall play to you
224   Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,
225   And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.

226   Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come,
227   quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

228   Go, ye giddy goose.

           The music plays.

229   Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
230   And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous.
231   By'r lady, he is a good musician.

232   Then should you be nothing but musical for
233   you are altogether governed by humors. Lie
234   still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh.

235   I had rather hear Lady, my
236   brach, howl in Irish.

237   Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

238   No.

239   Then be still.

240   Neither;'tis a woman's fault.

241   Now God help thee!

242   To the Welsh lady's bed.

243   What's that?

244   Peace! she sings.

           Here the lady sings a Welsh song.

245   Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.

246   Not mine, in good sooth.

247   Not yours, in good sooth! Heart! you swear like a
248   comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, in good sooth,' and
249   'as true as I live,' and 'as God shall mend me,' and
250   'as sure as day,'
251   And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,
252   As if thou never walk'st further than Finsbury.
253   Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
254   A good mouth-filling oath, and leave 'in sooth,'
255   And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,
256   To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.
257   Come, sing.

258   I will not sing.

259   'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be
260   red-breast teacher. An the indentures
261   be drawn, I'll away within these two
262   hours; and so, come in when ye will.


263   Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow
264   As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.
265   By this our book is drawn; we'll but seal,
266   And then to horse immediately.

266                                                   With all my heart.