HOTSPUR. Well, I am school’d. Good manners be your speed! Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. Enter Glendower with Lady Mortimer and Lady Percy. MORTIMER. This is the deadly spite that angers me, My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. GLENDOWER. My daughter weeps, she’ll 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 Lady Mortimer in Welsh, and she answers him in the same._] GLENDOWER. She is desperate here, a peevish self-willed harlotry, One that no persuasion can do good upon. [_Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer in Welsh._] MORTIMER. I understand thy looks, that pretty Welsh Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens I am too perfect in, and but for shame In such a parley should I answer thee. [_Lady Mortimer speaks to him 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 learnt 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. [_Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer 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. MORTIMER. With all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing, By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. GLENDOWER. Do so, and those musicians that shall play to you Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence, And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. HOTSPUR. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down. Come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap. LADY PERCY. Go, ye giddy goose. [_The music plays._] HOTSPUR. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh, And ’tis no marvel he’s so humorous. By’r Lady, he’s a good musician. LADY PERCY. Then should you be nothing but musical, For you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. HOTSPUR. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. LADY PERCY. Wouldst thou have thy head broken? HOTSPUR. No. LADY PERCY. Then be still. HOTSPUR. Neither; ’tis a woman’s fault. LADY PERCY. Now God help thee! HOTSPUR. To the Welsh lady’s bed. LADY PERCY. What’s that? HOTSPUR. Peace, she sings. [_Here the lady sings a Welsh song._] Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too. LADY PERCY. Not mine, in good sooth.