Speeches (Lines) for Mortimer
in "Henry IV, Part I"
Total: 13

1

III,1,1543

These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our induction full of prosperous hope.

2

III,1,1595

Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.

3

III,1,1606

Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.

4

III,1,1615

The archdeacon hath divided it
Into three limits very equally:
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
By south and east is to my part assign'd:
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
And all the fertile land within that bound,
To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn;
Which being sealed interchangeably,
A business that this night may execute,
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I
And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
To meet your father and the Scottish power,
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet,
Not shall we need his help these fourteen days.
Within that space you may have drawn together
Your tenants, friends and neighbouring gentlemen.

5

III,1,1650

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.

6

III,1,1692

Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!

7

III,1,1710

In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments, valiant as a lion
And as wondrous affable and as bountiful
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
He holds your temper in a high respect
And curbs himself even of his natural scope
When you come 'cross his humour; faith, he does:
I warrant you, that man is not alive
Might so have tempted him as you have done,
Without the taste of danger and reproof:
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.

8

III,1,1738

This is the deadly spite that angers me;
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

9

III,1,1742

Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy
Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

10

III,1,1748

I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh
Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens
I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
In such a parley should I answer thee.
[The lady speaks 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 learned 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.

11

III,1,1762

O, I am ignorance itself in this!

12

III,1,1772

With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing:
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn

13

III,1,1820

With all my heart.