But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented

Hotspur, reading a letter
But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be
well contented to be there, in respect of the love I
bear your house. He could be contented; why is he
not, then? In respect of the love he bears our
house—he shows in this he loves his own barn
better than he loves our house. Let me see some
more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous.
Why, that's certain. ‘Tis dangerous to take a cold,
to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my Lord Fool, out
of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends
you have named uncertain, the time itself unsorted,
and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise
of so great an opposition. Say you so, say you so?
I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly
hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By
the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid,
our friends true and constant—a good plot,
good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent
plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited
rogue is this! Why, my Lord of York commends
the plot and the general course of the action.
Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain
him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my
uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my
Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not
besides the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to
meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month,
and are they not some of them set forward already?
What a pagan rascal is this—an infidel! Ha, you
shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold
heart, will he to the King and lay open all our
proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to
buffets for moving such a dish of skim milk with so
honorable an action! Hang him, let him tell the
King. We are prepared. I will set forward tonight.