In a new channel fair and evenly. It shall not wind with such a deep indent To rob me of so rich a bottom here. Glend. Not wind? It shall, it must! You see it doth. Mort. Yea, but Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up With like advantage on the other side, Gelding the opposed continent as much As on the other side it takes from you. Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here And on this north side win this cape of land; And then he runs straight and even. Hot. I'll have it so. A little charge will do it. Glend. I will not have it alt'red. Hot. Will not you? Glend. No, nor you shall not. Hot. Who shall say me nay? Glend. No, that will I. Hot. Let me not understand you then; speak it in Welsh. Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you; For I was train'd up in the English court, Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament- A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, And I am glad of it with all my heart! I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers. I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree, And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry. 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag, Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. Hot. I do not care. I'll give thrice so much land To any well-deserving friend; But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair Are the indentures drawn? Shall we be gone? Glend. The moon shines fair; you may away by night. I'll haste the writer, and withal Break with your wives of your departure hence. I am afraid my daughter will run mad, So much she doteth on her Mortimer. Exit. Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! Hot. I cannot choose. Sometimes he angers me With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, And of a dragon and a finless fish, A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven, A couching lion and a ramping cat, And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff As puts me from my faith. I tell you what- He held me last night at least nine hours In reckoning up the several devils' names That were his lackeys. I cried 'hum,' and 'Well, go to!' But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious As a tired horse, a railing wife; Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live With cheese and garlic in a windmill far Than feed on cates and have him talk to me In any summer house in Christendom. Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, Exceedingly well read, and profited In strange concealments, valiant as a lion, And wondrous affable, and as bountiful As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?