The very bottom, and the foul of hope,
The very lift, the very utmoft bound
Of all our fortunes.

Dow. 'Faith, and fo we fhould;
Where now remains a fweet reverfion.
We now may boldly fpend, upon the hope
Of what is to come in:

A comfort of retirement lives in this.

Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto,
If that the devil and mifchance look big
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.

Wor. But yet I would your father had been here
The quality and hair of our attempt
Brooks no divifion: it will be thought
By fome, that know not why he is away,
That wisdom, loyalty, and meer diflike
Of our proceedings, kept the Earl from hence.
And think, how fuch an apprehenfion
May turn the tide of fearful faction,
And breed a kind of queftion in our caufe :
For well you know, we of th'offending fide
Muft keep aloof from ftrict arbitrement,
And ftop all fight-holes, every loop from whence
The eye of reafon may pry in upon uş:
This abfence of your father draws a curtain,
That fhews the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt upon.

Hot. You ftrain too far.

I rather of his abfence make this ufe:
It lends a luftre, and more great opinion,
A larger glare to our great enterprife,

Than if the Earl were here: for men must think,
If we without his help can make a head,
To push against the kingdom; with his help,
We fhall o'er-turn it topfie-turvy down.
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.

Dow. As heart can think; there is not fuch a word Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear.

SCENE II. Enter Sir Richard Vernon. Hot. My coufin Vernon, welcome, by my foul.

Ver.

Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, Lord.
The Earl of Westmorland, fev'n thousand strong,
Is marching hither with Prince Jobn of Lancaster.
Hot. No harm; what more?

Ver. And further, I have learn'd,

The King himself in perfon hath set forth,

Or hitherwards intended speedily,

With ftrong and mighty preparation.

Hot. He fhall be welcome too: where is his fon?

The nimble-footed mad-cap Prince of Wales,

And his comrades, that daffe the world afide
And bid it pass?

Ver. All furnisht, all in arms,

All plum'd like Eftridges, and with the wind
Baiting like Eagles having lately bath'd:
Glittering in golden coats like images;
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the fun at Midfummer,
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I faw young Harry, with his beaver up,
His cuiffes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rife from the ground like feather'd Mercury
And vaulted with fuch eafe into his feat,
As if an Angel dropt down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,

And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

Hot. No more, no more; worse than the fun in March,

This praife doth nourish agues; let them come.

They come like facrifices in their trim,

And to the fire-ey'd maid of fmoaky war,

All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them.
The mailed Mars fhall on his altar fit
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprifal is fo nigh,

And

yet not ours. Come, let me take my horse,

Who is to bear me like a thunder-bolt,

Against the bofom of the Prince of Wales.
Harry to Harry fhall, and horfe to horfe

Meet, and ne'er part, 'till One drop down a coarfe,

Witch, for bewitch, charm.

F 2

Oh,

Oh, that Glendower were come!

Ver. There is more news:

I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
He cannot draw his pow'r this fourteen days.

Dow. That's the worft tidings that I hear of, yet.
Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty found.
Hot. What may the King's whole battle reach unto?
Ver. To thirty thousand.

Hot. Forty let it be,

My father and Glendower being both away,
The pow'r of us may ferve fo great a day.
Come, let us take a mufter fpeedily :
Dooms-day is near; die all, die merrily.

Dow. Talk not of dying, I am out of fear
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. [Exeunt..
SCENE III. The Road to Coventry.
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of fack: our foldiers fhall march through: we'll to Sutton-colfield to-night.

Bard. Will you give me mony, captain ?

Fal. Lay out, lay out.

Bard. This bottle makes an angel.

Hal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make twenty, take them all, I'll anfwer the coynage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end.

Bard. I will, captain; farewel.

[Exit.

Fal. If I be not afham'd of my foldiers, I am a fowc'd gurnet: I have mif-us'd the King's prefs damnably. I have got, in exchange of an hundred and fifty foldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I prefs me none but good houfholders, yeomens fons; enquire me out contracted batchelors, fuch as had been afk'd twice on the banes : fuch a commodity of warm faves, as had as lieve hear the devil, as a drum; fuch as fear the report of a culverin, worfe than a ftruck Deer, or a hurt wild-fowl. I prefs me none but fuch toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins heads, and they have bought out their fervices: and now my whole charge confifts of Ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies,

naves

Navès as ragged as Lazares in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his fores; and such as indeed were never foldiers, but discarded unjust servingmen, younger fons to younger brothers: revolted tapfters, and oftlers tradefall'n, the cankers of a calm world and long peace ten times more dishonourably ragged, than an old-fac'd Ancient; and fuch have I to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their fervices; that you would think I had a hundred and fifty tatter'd prodigals, lately come from swinekeeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and preft the dead bodies. No eye hath feen fuch fcare-crows: I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for indeed, I had the moft of them out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all my company; and the half shirt is two napkins tack'd together, and thrown over the fhoulders like a herald's coat without fleeves; and the fhirt, to fay the truth, ftol'n from my hoft of St. Albans ; or the red-nos'd Inn-keeper of Daintry. But that's all one, they'll find linnen enough on every hedge.

Enter Prince Henry, and Weftmorland.

P. Henry. How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt? Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag, what a devil do'ft thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Weftmorland, I cry you mercy, I thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury.

Weft. 'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and you too; but my powers are there already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us all; we muft away all to-night.

Fal. Tut, never fear me, I am as vigilant, as a Cat to fteal cream.

P. Henry, I think to teal cream indeed, for thy theft hath already made thee butter; but tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after ?

Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.

P. Henry. I did never fee fuch pitiful rafcals.

Fal Tut, tut, good enough to tofs: food for powder,

food

food for powder; they'll fill-a pit, as well as better; tush, man, morial men, mortal men.

Weft. Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly.

Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that; and for their barenefs, I am fure they never learn'd that of me.

P. Henry. No, I'll be fworn, unless you call three fingers. on the ribs, bare. But, Sirrah, make hafte. Percy is al ready in the field.

Fal. What, is the King encamp'd?

Weft. He is, Sir John: I fear we shall stay too long. Fal. Well,

The latter end of a fray, and beginning of a feaft,

Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.

SCENE IV.

At Shrewsbury.

[Exeunt.

Enter Hotfpur, Worçefter, Dowglas, and Vernon.

Hot. We'll fight with him to-night.

Wor. It may not be.

Dow. You give him then advantage.

Ver. Not a whit.

Hot. Why fay you fo? looks he not for supply?

Ver. So do we.

Hct. His is certain, ours is doubtful.

Wor. Good coufin, be advis'd; ftir not to-night.
Ver. Do not, my Lord.

Dow. You do not counfel well;

You fpeak it out of fear, and from cold heart.
Ver. Do me no flander, Douglas: by my life,
And I dare well maintain it with my life,
If well-refpected honour bid me on,
I hold as little counfel with weak fear,
As you, my Lord, or any Scot that lives.
Let it be feen to-morrow in the battel,
Which of us fears.

Dow. Yea, or to-night.

Ver. Content.

Hot. To-night, fay I.

Ver. Come, come, it may not be: I wonder much,

Being men of fuch great leading as you are,

That