| MORTIMER These promises are fair, the parties sure, | |
| And our induction full of prosperous hope. | |
| HOTSPUR Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, | |
| Will you sit down? | |
| And uncle Worcester: a plague upon it! | |
| I have forgot the map. | |
| GLENDOWER No, here it is. | |
| Sit, cousin Percy; 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. | |
| GLENDOWER I cannot blame him: at my nativity | |
| The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, | |
| Of burning cressets; and at my birth | |