Mortimer

Mortimer
Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
Even like a man new-halèd from the rack,
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;
And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death,
Nestor-like agèd in an age of care,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer;
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
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Plantagenet
O uncle, would some part of my young years
Might but redeem the passage of your age.
Mortimer
Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth
Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
Only give order for my funeral.
And so farewell,
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Glendower
Sit, good cousin Hotspur, for by that name
As oft as Lancaster doth speak of you
His cheek looks pale, and with a rising sigh
He wisheth you in heaven.
Hotspur
And you in hell,
As oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
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Hotspur, looking at the map
Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,
In quantity equals not one of yours.
See how this river comes me cranking in
And cuts me from the best of all my land
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle  out.
I’ll have the current in this place dammed up,
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
In a new channel,
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Mortimer
Fie, cousin Percy, how you cross my father!
Hotspur
I cannot choose. Sometime 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-winged griffin and a moulten raven,
A couching lion and a ramping cat,
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