Poins. O'tis our Setter, I know his Voice: Bardolph, what News?

Bard. Cafe ye, cafe ye; on with your Vizards, there's Mony of the King's coming down the Hill, 'tis going to the King's Exchequer.

Fal. You lie, you Rogue, 'tis going to the King's Tavern. Gad. There's enough to make us all.

Fal. To be hang'd.

P. Henry. You four fhall front them in the narrow Lane: Ned and I will walk lower; if they fcape from your cncounter, then they light on us.

but

Peto. But how many be of them?

Gad. Some eight or ten.

Fal. Will they not rob us?

P. Henry. What, a Coward, Sir John Paunch?

Fal. Indeed I am not John of Gaunt, your Grandfather; yet no Coward, Hal.

P. Henry. We'll leave that to the Proof.

Poins. Sirrah, Jack, thy Horse stands behind the Hedge, when thou reed'it him, there fhalt thou find him; farewel, and ftand faft.

Fal. Now cannot I ftrike him if I fhould be hang'd.
P. Henry. Ned, where are our Disguises?

Poins. Here hard by: Stand close.

Fal. Now my Mafters, happy Man be his dole fay I; every Man to his Bufiness.

Enter Travellers.

Trav. Come, Neighbour; the Boy fhall lead our Horfes down the Hill: We'll a foot awhile, and eafe our Legs. Thieves. Stay.

Trav. Jefu blefs us.

Fal. Strike; down with them, cut the Villains Throats; ah! whorfon Caterpillars; Bacon-fed Knaves, they hate us Youth; down with them, fleece them.

Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever. Fal. Hang ye gorbellied Kraves, are you undone? No ye Fat Chuffs, I would your ftore were here. On Bacons on, what ye Koaves? Young Men muft live, you are Grand Jurors? We'll jure ye i'faith.

[Here they rob them and bind them.

Enter

Enter Prince Henry and Poins:

P. Henry. The Thieves have bound the True-men: Now could thou and I rob the Thieves and go merrily to London, it would be Argumenr for a Week, Laughter for a Month, and a good Jeft for ever.

Poins. Stand clofe, I hear them coming.

Enter Thieves again.

Fal. Come my Mafters, let us fhare, and then to Horfe before Day; and the Prince and Poins be not two arrant Cowards, there's no equity stirring, There's no more Valour in that Poins, than in a wild Duck.

P. Henry. Your Mony.

Poins. Villains.

[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them. They all run away, leaving the Booty behind them.

P. Henry. Got with much eafe. Now merrily to Horfe: The Thieves are scattered, and poffeft with fear fo ftrongly, that they dare not meet each other; each takes his Fellow for an Officer. Away good Ned, Falstaff fweats to Death, and Lards the lean Earth as he walks along; wer't not for laughing, I should pity him.

Poins. How the Rogue roar'd.

SCENE II.

Enter Hot-fpur folus, reading a Letter.

[Exeunt.

He

But for mine own Part, my Lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your House. could be contented: Why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our Houfe He fhews in this, he loves his own Barn better than he loves our Houfe. Let me fee fome more. The purpofe you undertake is dangerous. Why that's certain: 'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, to drink; but I tell you, my Lord Fool, out of this Nettle, Danger; we pluck this Flower, Safety. The purpofe you undertake is dangerous, the Friends you have named uncertain, the time it Self unforted, and your whole Plot too light, for the counterpoize of fo great an Oppofition. So you fo, fay you fo? I fay unto you again, you are a fhallow cowardly Hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this? I proteft, our Plot is

as

as good a Plot as ever was laid; our Friends true and conftant: A good Plot, good Friends, and full of Expectation; An excellent Plot, very good Friends. What a Frofty-fpirited Rogue is this? Why, my Lord of York commends the Plot, and the general Course of the A&tion. By this Hand, if I were now by this Rafcal, I could brain him with his Lady's Fan. Is there not my Father, my Uncle, and my felf, Lord Edmond Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not befides, the Douglass? Have I not all their Letters, to meet me in Arms by the ninth of the next Moth? And are there not fome of them fet forward already? What a Pagan Rafcal is this? And Infidel. Ha! you fhall fee now in very fincerity of Fear and cold Heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our Proceedings. O, I could divide my felf, and go to buffets, for moving fuch a Difh of Skim'd-Milk with fo honourable an Action. Hang him, let him tell the King we are prepared. I will fet forwards to Night.

Enter Lady Percy.

How now, Kate! I muft leave you within thefe two Hours.
Lady. O my good Lord, why are you thus alone?
For what Offence have I this Fortnight been

A banish'd Woman from my Harry's Bed?

Tell me, fweet Lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy Stomach, Pleasure, and thy golden Sleep?
Why doft thou bend thy Eyes upon the Earth?
And ftart fo often when thou fitt'ft alone?
Why haft thou loft the fresh Blood in thy Cheeks?
And given my Treasures and my Rights of thee,
To thick-ey'd Mufing, and curft Melancholly?
In thy faint Slumbers, I by thee have watcht,
And heard thee murmur Tales of Iron Wars:
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding Steed,
Cry Courage to the Field. And thou haft talk'd
Of Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents,
Of Palifadoes, Frontiers, Parapets;
Of Bafilisks, of Cannon, Culverin,
Of Prifoners Ranfom, and of Soldiers flain,
And all the current of a heady fight.
Thy Spirit within thee hath been fo at War,
And thus hath fo beftirr'd thee in thy Sleep,

That

The Beds of Sweat have ftood upon thy Brow,
Like Bubbles in a late difturbed Stream;

And in thy Face ftrange motions have appear'd,
Such as we fee when Men reftrain their Breath,
On fome great fudden hafte. O what Portents are these?
Some heavy Bufinefs hath my Lord in Hand,

And I must know it; elfe he loves me not.

Hot. What ho; is Gilliams with the Packet gone?
Enter Servant.

Serv. He is, my Lord, an Hour agone.

Hot. Hath Butler brought thofe Horfes from the Sheriff?
Serv. One Horfe, my Lord, he brought even now.
Hot. What Horfe? A Roan, a Crop-ear, is it not?
Serv. It is, my Lord.

Hot. That Roan fhall be my Throne. Well, I will back him ftreight. Esperance, bid Butler lead him forth into the

Park.

Lady. But hear you, my Lord.

Hot. What fay'ft thou, my Lady?

Lady. What is it that carries you away?

Hot. Why, my Horfe, my Love, my Horse.

Lady. Out you mad-headed Ape, a Weazel hath not fuch

a deal of Spleen, as you are toft with.

In footh I'll know

your Bufinefs, Harry, that I will. I fear my Brother Martimer doth ftir about his Title, and hath fent for you to line his Enterprize. But if But if you go

Hot. So far afoot, I fhall be weary, Love.

Lady. Come, come, you Paraquito, anfwer me directly unto this Question, that I fhall ask. Indeed I'll break thy little Finger; if thou wilt not tell me true.

Hot. 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 Nofes, and crack'd Crowns,
And pals them currant too— -Gods me, my Horse.
What fay'ft thou, Kate? What would'ft thou have with me?
Lady. Do ye not love me? Do you not indeed?
Well, do not then. For fince you love me not,
I will not love my felf. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if thou fpeakeft in Jeft or no.

Hot.

Hot. Come, wilt thou fee me ride?
And when I am a Horfe-back, I will fwear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate,
I must not have you henceforth question me,
Whither I go; nor reason where about.
Whither I muft, I muft; and to conclude,
This Evening muft I leave thee, gentle Kate.
I know you wife, but yet no further wife
Then Harry Percy's Wife. Conftant you are,
But yet a Woman; and for Secrefie,
No Lady closer: For I will believe,

Thou wilt not utter what thou doft not know,
And fo far will I truft thee, gentle Kate.
Lady. How fo far?

Hot. Not an Inch further.

But hark

you

Kate,

Whither I go, thither shall you go too:
To Day will I fet forth, to morrow you,
Will this content you Kate?

Lady. It muft of force.

SCENE IV.

Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

[Exeunt.

P. Henry. Ned, prethee come out of that fat room, and lend me thy Hand to laugh a little.

Peins. Where haft been, Hal?

P. Henry. With three or four Loggerheads, amongst three or fourfcore Hogfheads. I have founded the very base ftring of Humility. Sirrah, I am fworn Brother to a Leath of Drawers, and can call them by their Names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their Confidence, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of Curtefie; telling me flatly, I am not proud like Jack Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a Lad of mettle, a good Boy, and when I am King of England, I shall command all the good Lads in Eaft-cheap. They call drinking deep, dying Scarlet; and when you break in your watring, then they cry Pem, and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am fo good a Proficient in one quarter of an Hour, that I can drink with any Tinker in his own Language during my

Life: