Page 699 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

LADY

But hear you, my lord.

HOTSPUR
What say’st thou, my lady?

LADY
What is it carries you away?

HOTSPUR
Why, my horse, my love − my horse!

LADY
Out, you mad-headed ape! [75]

A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
As you are tossed with. In faith,
I’ll know your business, Harry; that I will!
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title and hath sent for you [80]

To line his enterprise; but if you go −

HOTSPUR
So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.

LADY
Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly unto this question that I ask.

In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry, [85]
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.

HOTSPUR
Away, away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not;
I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips.

We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns, [90]
And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!
What say’st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?