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Other Alarums.-Enter FALSTAFF. Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here; here's no scoring, but upon the pate.-Soft! who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt;-there's honour for you: Here's no vanity!-I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels.-I have led my raggamuffins where they are peppered: there's but three of my hundred and lifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here?
Enter Prince HENRY.
West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent.
P. Hen. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help: [drive And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should The prince of Wales from such a field as this: Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, And rebels' arms triumph in massacres!
P. John. We breathe too long:-Come, cousin Westmoreland,
Our duty this way lies; for God's sake, come.
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit:
K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point,
With lustier maintenance than I did look for
Alarums.-Enter DOUGLAS. Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's I am the Douglas, fatal to all those [heads: That wear those colours on them.-What art That counterfeit'st the person of a king? [thou, K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart,
So many of his shadows thou hast met,
P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here? lend And not the very king. I have two boys,
me thy sword:
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe a while.-Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure.
P. Hen. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee.
Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.
P. Hen. Give it me: What, is it in the case? Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will sack a city.
[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack. P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally [Throws it at him and exit. Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his, willingly, let him make a carbonadot of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: Give me life: which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there's an end. [Exit.
SCENE IV.-Another part of the Field. Alarums.-Excursions.-Enter the KING, Prince HENRY, Prince JOHN, and WESTMORELAND.
Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field:
Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit; And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be, And thus I win thee.
[They fight; the KING being in danger, enter Prince HENRY.
P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like
Never to hold it up again! the spirits
K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while:-
That ever said, I hearken'd for your death.
Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.
Hot. My name is Harry Percy.
A very valiant rebel of the name.
I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,
To share with me in glory any more:
Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come
And all the budding honours on thy crest
Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal!-Nay, you
Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk!
[He sees FALSTAFF on the ground.
* Scarf, with which he covers Percy's face. + Salt.
well as I? Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, [Stabbing him.] with a new wound in your thigh, come you along with me. [Takes HOTSPUR on his back,
Re-enter Prince HENRY and Prince JOHN.
P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast thou flesh'd
Thy maiden sword.
P. John. But, soft! whom have we here?
Fal. No, that's certain; I am not a double man: but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy: [Throwing the body down.] if your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you.
P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead.
Fal. Didst thou ?-Lord, lord, how this world is given to lying!-I grant you, I was down, and out of breath; and so was he: but we arose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be believed, so; if not, let them, that should reward valour, bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my sword.
P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I
P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back:
[A Retreat is sounded.
The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours.
[Exeunt Prince HENRY and Prince JOHN.
SCENE V.-Another part of the Field. The Trumpets sound.-Enter King HENRY, Prince HENRY, Prince JOHN, WESTMORELAND, and others, with WORCESTER, and VERNON, prisoners.
K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find re-
Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace,
Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me
Warkworth.-Before Northumberland's Castle.
Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
Whilst the big year, swol❜n with some other They bring smooth comforts false, worse than
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
SCENE 1.-The same.-The PORTER before the Gate; Enter Lord BARDOLPH.
Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho?Where is the earl?
Port. What shall I say you are?
Bard. Tell thou the earl, That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard;
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Bard. Here comes the earl.
North. What news, lord Bardolph? every minute now
Should be the father of some stratagem:*
Berd. Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. North. Good, an heaven will!
Bard. As good as heart can wish :The king is almost wounded to the death; And, in the fortune of my lord your son, Prince Harry slain outright; and both the [John, Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day, [John, So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won, Came not, till now, to dignify the times, Since Cæsar's fortunes!
North. How is this deriv'd? Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence;
A gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me these news for true. North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; And he is furnish'd with no certainties, More than he haply may retain from me.
North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you?
Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
He was some hilding* fellow, that had stol'n
North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title
Fortells the nature of a tragic volume:
North. How doth my son, and, brother? Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand." Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Doug-
North. Why, he is dead.
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath? He, that but fears the thing he would not know, [eyes, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak,
I see a strange confession in thine eye: [sin,
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe
That, which I would to heaven I had not seen: But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out
Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill-luck!
Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken point
To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
North. Why should the gentleman, that rode Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
Give then such instances of loss?
Bard. Who, he?
* Important or dreadful event: + Exhausted. Lace tagged.