“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 honourable an
action! Hang him, let him tell the King, we are prepared. I will set
forward tonight.—
But for my own part, my lord, I could be well satisfied to be there, with respect to the love I bear your house.—He could be satisfied; so why isn't he? With respect to the love he bears our house—he shows in this that he loves his own property better than our house. Let me see more. The plan you're attempting is dangerous—Well, that's certain. It's dangerous to catch a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my foolish lord, from this nettle, danger, we pull this flower, safety. The plan you're attempting is dangerous, the friends you've named are uncertain, the time itself is poorly chosen, and your whole plot is too light to balance such great opposition.—You say so, you say so? I say to you again, you are a shallow, cowardly person, and you lie. What a foolish person this is! By God, our plot is as good as any ever laid, our friends true and loyal: a good plot, good friends, and full of promise; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a cold-hearted, spiritless rogue this is! My Lord of York commends the plot and the general direction of the action. If I were near this rascal now, I could hit 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 also the Douglas? Do I not have all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of next month, and have not some of them already started forward? What a godless rascal this is, a non-believer! You'll see now, in very sincere fear and cowardly heart, will he go to the King and reveal all our plans. I could split myself in two and fight myself for involving such a weak person in such an honorable action! Let him tell the King, we are ready. I will leave tonight.
Listen to this letter—some guy says he'd be happy to be there out of love for your house. So he'd be happy? Then why isn't he? Because he loves his own stuff more than your house, obviously. Then he complains the plan is dangerous—well of course it is! Everything's dangerous. But you know what? I say we pluck the flower of safety from the nettle of danger. Then he whines that our friends are uncertain and the timing is bad and our plot isn't strong enough—complete nonsense! He's a total coward and a liar. Our plot is the best plan ever made, our friends are solid and true, and everything looks good. This guy is just spineless! The Lord of York supports the whole thing. If I was standing next to this idiot, I'd smack him with his wife's fan. Come on—we've got my father, my uncle, me, Edmund Mortimer, the Lord of York, Owen Glendower, the Douglas—all our top people! They've all promised to meet me in arms by the ninth of next month, and some are already on their way! This guy is a complete pagan, a non-believer! You know what he'll do? He'll run to the King in fear and blab everything. I could split myself in two and punch myself for involving someone so useless in something so important! Let him tell the King—we're ready anyway. I'm leaving tonight.
some guy says he'd love 2 be here lol then y isnt he he loves his own stuff more the whole plans dangerous?? everything's dangerous dude our friends r solid not uncertain this guy's a total coward we got the best ppl mortimer glendower douglas everyone they promised 2 meet by 9th some already on the way he's gonna rat 2 the king im leaving tonight were set
How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.
Hello Kate! I have to leave you within the next two hours.
Kate! Listen, I have to leave in a couple of hours.
kate i gotta go in like 2 hours
Lady Percy — Kate — speaks in long, beautifully observant verse, cataloguing exactly what she has witnessed in her husband's nights and days. She is not hysterical; she's a precise reporter. Watch for how she balances genuine tenderness ('my Harry') with hard-headed insistence on truth.
O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish’d woman from my Harry’s bed?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is’t that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit’st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks,
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch’d,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,
Cry “Courage! To the field!” And thou hast talk’d
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,
Of prisoners’ ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream,
And in thy face strange motions have appear’d,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Oh my good lord, why are you shut away like this? For what wrong have I for this past two weeks been a banished woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is it that takes from you your appetite, pleasure, and your restful sleep? Why do you stare down at the earth and jump so often when you sit alone? Why have you lost the healthy color in your cheeks and given my treasures and my rights of you to heavy thinking and cursed sadness? During your restless sleep I have watched by you and heard you murmur stories of iron wars, speak commands to your jumping horse, cry Courage! To the field! And you have talked about attacks and retreats, trenches, tents, barriers, walls, fortifications, cannons, guns, prisoners being ransomed, and soldiers being killed, and all the chaotic sounds of fierce battle. Your spirit has been so at war within you and has stirred you so much in your sleep that beads of sweat have stood on your forehead like bubbles in a stream that has just been disturbed, and strange movements have appeared in your face, like what we see when men hold their breath on some great urgent command. Oh, what signs are these? Some serious business is on your mind, and I must know about it, or he does not love me.
My lord, why are you hiding away like this? It's been two weeks since I've been allowed in your bed—what did I do wrong? Tell me what's eating you up. You've lost your appetite, your joy, your sleep. You just stare at the ground and jump at every sound. You've gone pale and you're giving me away to dark thoughts and depression. I watch you at night and it's terrible—you're murmuring about wars and battles, talking to your horse, shouting about battle. You're dreaming about armies and trenches and cannons and prisoners and death. You're so torn up inside that you sweat all night, like bubbles on a disturbed stream, and your face keeps making these strange movements, like you're holding your breath from shock. What does this mean? Something serious is happening and you have to tell me. If you don't, I'll think you don't love me.
y r u locked away ive been banned from ur bed 4 2 weeks what did i do whats wrong u lost ur appetite joy sleep just staring down jumping at sounds u look pale sweat all night talking bout wars battles armies u r so torn up inside tell me or u dont love me
What, ho!
Yes, hello!
Hey!
yo
The unnamed letter-writer — usually identified as an unnamed lord who agreed in principle but then got cold feet — poses a specific strategic problem that Hotspur diagnoses correctly: a man who knows the plan and won't participate is a live security risk. 'In very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings.' Hotspur knows the type. We've all met the type: someone who seemed enthusiastic at the ideation stage but suddenly finds reasons not to commit when reality arrives. The difference here is that a business plan leak means embarrassment; a rebellion plan leak means execution. What makes the scene comic is Hotspur's certainty that the plot is still sound, all his co-conspirators are still loyal, and this one letter-writer is just an outlier. He's half-right: some of them will fail him in ways he can't predict yet.
Is Gilliams with the packet gone?
Has Gilliams left yet with the packet?
Did Gilliams leave with that packet?
did gilliams go with the packet?
He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Yes, my lord, he left an hour ago.
He did, my lord, about an hour ago.
yeah he left an hour ago
Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
Has Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
Did Butler bring the horses from the sheriff?
did butler get the horses
One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
One horse, my lord, he just brought it now.
Just one horse so far, sir.
just got 1 horse
What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
What horse? A reddish-brown one with cropped ears, is it not?
What kind of horse? A roan with cropped ears?
what horse brown one w cropped ears
It is, my lord.
That is correct, my lord.
Yes, sir.
yep
That roan shall be my throne.
Well, I will back him straight. O Esperance!
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
That roan will be my seat. Well, I will ride him right away. Oh Hope! Tell Butler to lead him out into the park.
That roan will be my horse. I'll ride him right now. Hey, Butler, take him to the park.
that roan's my throne im riding him now butler take him 2 the park
Lady Percy's long opening speech — listing everything she's observed of Hotspur's disturbed nights — is one of the play's most underrated passages of verse. What makes it extraordinary is its precision: she doesn't say 'you've been troubled' or 'you seem anxious.' She gives a forensic inventory. Sallies, retires, trenches, tents, palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, basilisks, cannons, culverins. She knows the vocabulary of war because she has absorbed it through proximity to a man who can't stop thinking about it. The beads of sweat 'like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream' is a genuinely lovely image — and the stream metaphor echoes Hotspur's own Severn imagery from 1-3, suggesting she's been listening to him longer than this play has been. Shakespeare gives her a better verse speech than most of his male soldiers get, and then has Hotspur interrupt it with 'Hey! Ho!' — one of the play's quietest cruelties.
But hear you, my lord.
But listen, my lord.
But listen to me, my lord.
listen 2 me
What say’st thou, my lady?
What are you saying, my lady?
What are you saying?
what
What is it carries you away?
What is taking you away?
What's pulling you away from me?
whats pulling u away
Why, my horse, my love, my horse.
Well, my horse, my love, my horse.
My horse, love, my horse.
my horse baby my horse
Out, you mad-headed ape!
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
As you are toss’d with. In faith,
I’ll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title, and hath sent for you
To line his enterprise. But if you go—
Get away from me, you crazy fool! A weasel does not have as much angry energy as you are thrown about with. Truly, I will know your business, Harry, I will. I fear my brother Mortimer is stirring trouble about his title and has sent for you To support his scheme. But if you go—
Oh you madman! You are wound up like nothing I have ever seen—worse than a weasel on a rampage! I am going to know what you are up to, Harry, whether you like it or not. I think Mortimer is trying to claim his title and sent for you to help him. But if you go—
ur crazy more wound up than a weasel im gonna find out whats up i think mortimers claiming his title sent 4 u 2 help but if u go—
So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Walking so far, I will be tired, love.
If I have to walk that far, I will be exhausted.
if i walk that far im tired
Hotspur's explanation for why he won't tell Kate his plan is structurally interesting: he trusts her discretion completely, so he's protecting her by withholding the information. The logic is sound — she can't be tortured for what she doesn't know — but it's also the logic of every powerful person who excludes a partner 'for their own protection.' Shakespeare holds both readings in tension. Kate is not fooled — 'How? So far?' — and her three-word response nails the gap between being loved and being trusted with the truth. 'It must, of force' is the play's most compressed moment of female resignation: not consent, not acceptance, just the acknowledgment of limited options. Hotspur does promise she'll follow tomorrow, and this creates a small ironic forward echo — we never see Kate arrive at the battlefield.
Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly unto this question that I ask.
In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry,
If thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Come, come, you little parrot, answer me directly to this question I am asking. In truth, I will break your little finger, Harry, If you will not tell me everything truthfully.
Come on, you chatterbox, answer me straight! I swear I will break your finger if you don't tell me the truth, Harry.
answer me u parrot im serious ill break ur finger if u dont tell me truth
Away,
Away, you trifler! Love, I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips.
We must have bloody noses and crack’d crowns,
And pass them current too.—Gods me, my horse!—
What say’st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?
Go away, Go away, you frivolous person! Love, I do not love you, I do not care for you, Kate. This is not a world To play with dolls and kiss. We must have bloody noses and broken heads, And treat them as normal too.—God, my horse!— What do you say, Kate? What do you want from me?
Go away! This is not the time for your games, Kate. I do not love you right now, I do not have time for you. This is not a world for playing house and kissing. We need bloody battles and serious wounds.—God, my horse!— What do you want from me, Kate?
go away im not in love w u kate this aint playtime we need war & blood not games & kissing —my horse!— what do u want
Do you not love me? Do you not indeed?
Well, do not, then, for since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
So you have no love for me? Truly none at all? Then so be it—if you care nothing for me, I will care nothing for myself either. Can this be real? Tell me straight: are you mocking me or do you mean it?
You do not love me? Seriously? Fine, do not—because if you do not love me, I will not even love myself. Are you serious about that? Tell me you are joking!
u dont love me for real?? fine then i wont love myself either r u joking or serious
Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am a-horseback I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate,
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude,
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise, but yet no farther wise
Than Harry Percy’s wife; constant you are,
But yet a woman; and for secrecy,
No lady closer, for I well believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
Come, will you watch me ride? And when I am on my horse I will swear I love you infinitely. But listen, Kate, I must not have you from now on question me About where I go, nor ask reasons about it. Where I must go, I must go; and to end this, This evening I must leave you, gentle Kate. I know you are wise, but only as wise As Harry Percy's wife should be; loyal you are, But still a woman; and for keeping secrets, No lady is more careful, for I believe truly You will not tell what you do not know; And so far will I trust you, gentle Kate.
Come watch me ride! And once I am on the horse, I promise I will tell you I love you more than anything. But Kate, listen—from now on, do not ask me where I am going or why. What I have to do, I have to do. I am leaving tonight, Kate. I know you are smart, but only as smart as the wife of Harry Percy should be. You are loyal, sure, but you are still a woman. And you are good at keeping quiet—better than any lady I know—because you will not talk about things you do not know. So I trust you with that much, Kate.
watch me ride im on the horse ill say i love u but dont ask where im going where i must go i must go im leaving 2nite kate i know ur smart & loyal but ur still a woman thats y i trust u u dont talk bout what u dont know
How? So far?
What? You trust me that much?
That much?
thats all
Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate,
Whither I go, thither shall you go too.
Today will I set forth, tomorrow you.
Will this content you, Kate?
Not one inch further. But listen, Kate, Where I go, you will go too. Today I will leave, tomorrow you. Will this satisfy you, Kate?
No more than that. But Kate, listen—wherever I go, you are going too. I am leaving today, you tomorrow. Does that make you happy?
not even closer but wherever i go u go 2 im leaving today u tomorrow happy now
It must, of force.
It has to be, by necessity.
I suppose it has to be.
guess it has 2 be
The Reckoning
Two very different kinds of intimacy in this scene: Hotspur arguing with a piece of paper, and Hotspur being confronted by the woman who has spent two weeks watching him dream of war. The letter-reading is pure comedy — one-sided argument, mounting outrage, the moment where Hotspur can't even remember the name of a place and has to be reminded. The Lady Percy scene is something else: genuine tenderness inside genuine refusal. He won't tell her his plan, but he also can't quite leave her. It ends on 'It must, of force' — four words that are both submission and quiet sadness.
If this happened today…
Imagine a startup co-founder reading a long, cautious email from an early investor who suddenly has 'concerns' about the risk level and wants to pull back. The founder reads it aloud with increasing contempt: 'the timing is unsorted, the team uncertain, the whole venture too risky' — yeah, yeah, every good idea looks risky on paper. Then his partner walks in from the kitchen: 'Where are you going? You've barely slept in two weeks. You're muttering about product launches in your sleep. Tell me what's happening.' He says 'I can't yet. But you'll be there when it launches.' She says 'Fine.' She doesn't mean fine.