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Updated: June 27, 2025
Then, to use the words of the impulsive Hotspur, slightly altered to suit the occasion, I'll creep upon him while he lies asleep, and in his ear I'll whisper Snooks!" "You don't know where he lives," said Zurich. "Ah, but you do! I beg your pardon, Zurich perhaps in my thoughtlessness I have wounded you. I used the wrong pronoun.
He hates the thought of returning to the monastery, and has begged me, most earnestly, to ask Percy to continue him in his employment." As soon as Oswald had donned his ordinary attire, he went to Lord Percy's quarters. "You are back sooner than I had expected, Oswald," Hotspur said, as he entered. "Nothing has gone wrong, I hope?"
Abraham Hart was an attorney, so called by himself and friends, living in a genteel street abutting on Gray's Inn Road, with whose residence and place of business, all beneath the same roof, George Hotspur was very well acquainted. Mr. Hart was a man in the prime of life, with black hair and a black beard, and a new shining hat, and a coat with a velvet collar and silk lining.
Northumberland and Hotspur were still smarting under this treatment of Mortimer when, eight days after the battle, the messenger they had despatched to the king, in Wales, with the report of their great victory, and the capture of Douglas and other important nobles, returned with an order from the king that these prisoners were not to be ransomed.
"So you may soon have an opportunity of showing Hotspur what you are made of. And now, I doubt not that you are hungry. I will send down to the buttery, for a couple of tankards and a pasty. I had my supper two hours ago, but I doubt not that I can keep you company in another." He went to the window, and called out, "John Horn!" The name was repeated below, and in two minutes a servant came up.
"I would have my valor in all men's mouths, but not in this fashion, for it is too biting a jest. Three, say you? Well, I am glad it was no worse; I have a tender conscience, and that mad fellow of the north, Hotspur, sits heavily upon it, so that thus this Percy, being slain by my valor, is per se avenged, a plague on him! Three, say you?
Not even in Hotspur or Prince Hal has he mixed with more godlike sleight of hand all the lighter and graver good qualities of the national character, or compounded of them all so lovable a nature as this.
Sir Henry, Lord Percy, was now about forty years old. He had received the order of knighthood at the coronation of Richard the Second, when his father was created earl; and, nine years later, he was made governor of Berwick and Warden of the Marches; in which office he displayed such activity in following up and punishing raiders, that the Scots gave him the name of Hotspur.
And then, the force of Hotspur is but transient youth, the common heat of youth, in him. The character of Henry the Sixth again, roi fainéant, with La Pucelle* for his counterfoil, lay in the direct course of Shakespeare's design: he has done much to fix the sentiment of the "holy Henry."
I had now most of the evening work, as I was well accustomed to standing, and Jerry was also more afraid of Hotspur taking cold. We had a great deal of late work in the Christmas week, and Jerry's cough was bad; but however late we were, Polly sat up for him, and came out with a lantern to meet him, looking anxious and troubled.
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