[Exit Servant.]
LADY PERCY.
But hear you, my lord.
HOTSPUR.
What say’st thou, my lady?
LADY PERCY.
What is it carries you away?
HOTSPUR.
Why, my horse, my love, my horse.
LADY PERCY.
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—
HOTSPUR.
So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
LADY PERCY.
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.
HOTSPUR.
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?
LADY PERCY.
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.