The never-daunted Percy to the earth,'
From whence, with life, he never more sprung up.
In few; his death, (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dulleft peafant in his Camp)
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the beft-temper'd courage in his troops.
For from his metal was his party fteel'd;"
Which once in him rebated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as the thing, that's heavy in its felf,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heavy in Hot-fpur's lofs,
Lend to this weight fuch lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our foldiers, aiming at their fafety,
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Wor'fter
Too foon ta'en prifoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Dowglas, whose well-labouring fword
Had three times flain th' appearance of the King,
'Gan vail his ftomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The fum of all
Is, that the King hath won: and hath sent out
A fpeedy Pow'r to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster
And Weftmorland. This is the news at full.

North. For this, I fhall have time enough to mourn. In poifon there is phyfic: and this news,

That would, had I been well, have made me fick,
Being fick, hath in fome measure made me well.
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like ftrengthlefs hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms; ev'n fo my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence therefore, thou nice

crutch;

A fcaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

F 6

Muft

Muft glove this hand. And hence, thou fickly quoif
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which Princes, flefh'd with conqueft, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach
The ruggedft hour that time and fpight dare bring
To frown upon th'enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heav'n kifs earth! now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd; let order die,
And let this world no longer be a ftage
To feed contention in a lingring act:
But let one fpirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bofoms, that each heart being fet
On bloody courfes, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!

Bard. This ftrained paffion doth you wrong, my lord!

Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.
Mort. The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To ftormy paffion, must perforce decay.
You caft th' event of war, my noble lord,

And fumm'd th' account of chance, before you faid,
Let us make head: it was your prefurmife,
That, in the dole of blows, your fon might drop:
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er:
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable

Of wounds and fears; and that his forward fpirit
Would lift him where moft trade of danger rang'd:
Yet did you fay, Go forth. And none of this,
Though frongly apprehended, could reftrain
The fiff-borne action. What hath then befall'n,
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth,
More than That being, which was like to be?

Bard. We all, that are engaged to this lofs,
Knew, that we ventur'd on fuch dang'rous feas,
That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one:
And yet we ventur'd for the gain propos'd,

Choak’d

Choak'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And fince we are o'er-fet, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.

Mort. 'Tis more than time; and my most noble lord,

I hear for certain, and do speak the truth:
The gentle Arch-bishop of York is up
With well-appointed Powers: he is a man,
Who with a double furety binds his followers.
My lord, your fon, had only but the corps,
But fhadows, and the fhews of men to fight.
For that fame word, Rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their fouls ;
And they did fight with queafiness: constrain'd,
As men drink potions, that their
weapons only
Seem'd on our fide: but for their spirits and fouls,
This word, Rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond. But now, the Bishop
Turns Infurrection to Religion;

Suppos'd fincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind:
And doth enlarge his Rifing with the blood
Of fair King Richard, fcrap'd from Pomfret ftones;
Derives from heav'n his quarrel and his caufe;
Tells them, he doth beftride a bleeding land
Gafping for life, under great Bolingbroke:
And more, and lefs, do flock to follow him.
North. I knew of this before: but to speak truth,
This prefent grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me, and counsel every man
The apteft way for fafety and revenge:

Get pofts, and letters, and make friends with fpeed;
Never fo few, nor never yet more need.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

Changes to a Street in London.

Enter Sir John Falftaff, with his Page bearing his fword

and buckler.

Fal. SIRRAH, you, giant! what says the do&or

to my water?

Page. He faid, Sir, the water itself was a good healthy water. But for the party that own'd it, he might have more diseases than he knew for.

Fal. Men of all forts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of this foolish-compounded-clay, Man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only witty in myfelf, but the caufe that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a fow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to fet me off, why, then I have no judgment. Thou whorefon mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never will fet. you

mann'd with an agot till now: but I neither in gold nor filver, but in vile apparel, and fend you back again to your mafter, for a jewel: The Juvenal, the Prince your mafter! whofe chin is not yet fledg'd; I will fooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, then he fhall get one on his cheek; yet he will not flick to say, his face is a face-royal. Heav'n may finifh it when it will, it is not a hair amifs yet; he may keep it ftill as a face-royal, for a barber fhall never earn fixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almoft out of mine, I can affure him. What faid Mr. Dombleden, about the fatten for my fhort cloak and flops?

Page.

Page. He faid, Sir, you fhould procure him better afsurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours, he lik'd not the fecurity.

Fal. Let him be damn'd like the Glutton, may his tongue be hotter! a whorefon Achitophel, a rafcally yea-forfooth-knave, to bear a gentleman in hand, and then ftand upon fecurity! the whorefon-fmooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles: and if a man is thorough with them in honeft taking up, then they must stand upon fecurity: I had as lief they would put rats-bane in my mouth, as offer to ftop it with fecurity. I looked he fhould have fent me two and twenty yards of satten, as I am a true Knight, and he fends me Security. Well, he may fleep in fecurity, for he hath the horn of abundance. And the lightness of his wife fhines through it, and yet cannot he fee, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph? Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your Worship a horse.

Fal. I bought him in Paul's and he'll buy me a horfe in Smithfield. If I could get me but a wife in the Stews, I were mann'd, hors'd, and wiv'd.

SCENE V.

Enter Chief Justice, and Servants.

Page. SIR, here comence for ftriking him, about

the Nobleman that com

Bardolph.

Fal. Wait clofe, I will not fee him.
Ch. Juft. What's he that goes there?
Serv. Falstaff, an't please your lordship.

Ch. Juft. He that was in queftion for the robbery? Serv. He, my lord. But he hath fince done good fervice at Shrewsbury: and, as I hear, is now going with fome charge to the lord John of Lancafter.

Ch. Juft.