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Wor. The King will bid you Battel presently.
Dow. Defi 'him by the Lord of Westmorland
Hot. Lord Dowglass; go you and tell him so.
Dow. Marry and shall, and very willingly.

Exit Dowglass.
Wor. There is no seeming Mercy in the King.
Hot, Did you beg any? God forbid.
Wor. I told him gently of our Grievances,
Of his Oath-breaking; which he mended thus,
By now forswearing that he is forsworn,
He calls us Rebels, Traitors, and will scourge
With haughty Arms, this hateful Name in us.

Enter Dowglass,
Dow. Arm, Gentlemen, to Arms, for I have thrown
A brave Defiance in King Henry's Teeth:
And Westmorland that was ingag'd did bear it,
Which cannot chule but bring him quickly cn.

Wor. The Prince of Wales ítept forth before the King, And, Nephew, challeng'd you to single Fight.

Hot. O, would the Quarrel lay upon our Heads,
And that no Man might draw short Breath to Day,
But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell me,
How shew'd his Talking? Seem'd it in Contempt?

Ver. No by my Soul: I never in my Life
| Did hear a Challenge urg'd more modestly,
Unless a Brother should a Brother dare,
To gentle Exercise and proof of Arms.
He gave you all the Duties of a Man,
Trim'd up your Praises with a princely Tongue,
Spoke your Deservings like a Chronicle,
Making you ever better than his Praise,
By ftill difpraising Praise, valu’d with you:
And which became him like a Prince indeed,
He made a blufhing Cital of himself,
And chide his trewart Youth so with a Grace,
As if he master'd there a double Spirit
Of teaching and of learning instantly:
There'did he pause. But let me tell the World,
If he our-live the Envy of this Day,
England did never owe fo fweet a Hype,
So much minsconstrued in his Wantonnels.


Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured
On his Follies; never did I hear
Of any Prince so wild at Liberty.
But be he as he will, yer once e'er Night,
I will embrace him with a Soldier's Arm,
That he shall Ihrink under my Courtesie.
Arm, arm with speed. And Fellows, Soldiers, Friends,
Better consider what you have to do,
Than I, that have not well the Gift of Tongue,
Can lift your Blood up with Persuasion.

Enter a Mesenger.
Mes. My Lord, here are Letters for you. .

Hot. I cannot read them now.
O Gentlemen, the time of Life is short :
· To spend that Shortness basely were too long,

Tho'Life did ride upon a Dial's Point,
Still ending at the Arrival of an Hour.
And if we live, we live to tread on Kings:
If die; brave Death, when Princes die with us.
Now for our Consciences, the Arms are fair,
When the Intent for bearing them is just.

Enter another Messenger.
Mer. My Lord, prepare, the King comes on space.

Hot. I thank him, that he cuts' me from my Tale,
For I profess not talking: Only this,
Let each Man do his beft. And here I draw my Sword,
Whose worthy Temper I intend to stain
With the blest Blood that I can meet withal,
In the Adventure of chis perilous Day.
Now Esperance, Percy, and set on:
Sound all the lofty Instruments of War,
And by that Mulick, let us all embrace:
For Heav'n to Earth, some of us never shall,
A second time do such a courtefie.

They embrace, then Exeunt. The Trumpets found, the
King entreth with his Power,alarm unto the Battel. Then

enter Dowglass and Sir Walter Blunt. Blunt. What is thy Name, that in Batcel thus thou crosfest What Honour dost thou setk upon my Head?

Dow. Know then, my Name is Dowglass, And I do haunt thee in the Battel thus, o Because some tell me, that thou art a King.


To the Acerance, Letafrumenal embracer Thalls

(me? Blunt. They tell thee true.

Dow. The Lord of Stafford dear to Day hath bought,
Thy Likeness; for instead of thee, King Harry,
This Sword hath ended him, so shall it thee,
Unless thou yield thee as a Prisoner.

Blunt. I was not born to yield, thou haughty Scot,
And thou shalt find a King that will revenge
Lord Stafford's Death.

Figbt, Blunt is pain, then enter Hot-spur.
Hot. O Dowglass, ladft thou fought at Holmedon thus,
I never had triumphed o'er a Scot.

Dow. All's done, all's won, here breathless lyes the King.
Hot. Where?
Dow. Here.

Hot. This, Dowglafs? No, I know this Face full well:
A gallant Knight he was, his Name was Blunt,
Semblably furnish'd like the King himself.

Dow. Ah! Fool go with thy Soul whither it goes,
A borrow'd Title haft thou bought too dear.
Why didst thou tell me, that thou wert a King?

Hot. The King hath many marching in his Coats.

Dow. Now by my Sword, I will kill all his Coats,
I'll murther all his Wardrobe Piece by Piece,
Until I meet the King.

Hot. Up and awqYi fairly for the Proins.

Our Sold ers stand full fairly for the Day [Exeunt.

Alarm, enter Falstaff folus. 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 moulten Lead, and as heavy too: Heav'o keep Lead out of me, I need no more Weight than mine own Bowels. I have led my Rag-o-' Muffians where they are pepper'd; thre's not three of my hundred and fifty left alive, and they for the Towns end to beg during Life. But who comes here?

Enter Prince Henry. P. Henry. What stand'stihou idle here? lend me thy Sword, Many a noble Man lyes ftark and stiff Under the Hoofs of vaunting Enemies, Whose Deaths are unreveng'd. Prithee lend me thy Sword.


I priche nay, Halow'Pistol if thou is it in this fack a Citysacks

Swof. Henry. Mal, tis hotrive Prince dr want and delim

Fal. O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breath 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. Henry. He is indeed, and living to kill thee: I prithee lend me thy Sword.

Fal. Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st
Sword: but take my Pistol if thou wilt.

P. Henry. Give it me: What, is it in the Cases
Fal. Ay Hal, 'tis hot : There's that will fack a City.

: [The Prince draws out a Bottle of Sack. P. Henry. What, is it a time to jest and dally now?

[Throws it at him, and Exit. Fal. 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 Carboriado of me. I like not such grinning Honour as Sir Walter hath : Give me Life, which if I can save, fu; if not, Honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end.


SCENE III. Alarm, Excursions, Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John

. of Lancaster, and the Earl of Westmorland. · K. Henry. I prithee, Harry, withdraw thy self, thou bleed. eft too much: Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.

Lan. Nor I, my Lord, unless I did bleed too.

P. Henry. I bef:ech your Majesty make up,
Least your Retirement do amaze your Friends.

K. Henry. I will do sy:
My Lord of West morland, lead him to his Tent.

West. Come my Lord, I'll lead you to your Tent.

P. Henry. Lead me, my Lord! I do not need your Help, And Heay’n forbid a shallow Scratch should drive The Prince of Wales from such a Field as this, Where ftain'd Nobility lyes trodden on,

And Rebels Arms triumph in Massacres. . Lan. We breath too long; come Coufin Westworland, Our Duty this Way lyes, for Heav'ns fake come.

P. Henry. By Heav'n thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster, I did not chink thee Lord of such a Spirit:


That country. The Kinows thou halt Wo Boys

Before, I lov'd thee as a Brother, John;
But now, I do refpe& thee as my Soul.

K. Henry. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the Point,
With luftier Maintenance than I did look for
Of such an ungrown Warrior.
P. Henry. O this Boy, lends Mettle to us all. [Exit.

Enter Dowglass. Dew. Another King? They grow like Hydra's Heads: I am the Dowglass fatal to all those That wear thole Colours on them. What art thou That counterfeit'st the Person of a King ?

K. Henry. The King himself; who, Dowglass, grieves at So many of his Shadows thou hast met,

Heart And not the very King. I have two Boys Seek Percy and thy self about the Field; But seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily I will aslay thee: So defend thy self.

Dow, I fear thou art another Counterfeit; And yet in faith thou bear'lt thee like a King: But mine I am sure thou art, who e'er thou be, And thus I win thee. [They fighı: The King being in Danger,

Exter Prince Henry. P. Henry. Hold up thy Head, vile Scot, or thou art like Never to hold it up again: The Spirits Of valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Arms; It is the Prince of Wales that threats thee, Who never promiseth, but means to pay,

[They fight, Dowglass flyeth.
Chearly, my Lord; how fares your Grace ?
Sir Nicholas Gawley hath for Succour sent, i
And so hath Clifton: I'll to Clifton streight.
_K. Henry. Stay, and breath a while.
Thou hast redeem'd my lost Opinion,
And Thew'd thou mak’it some tender of my Life
In this fair Rescue thou hast brought to me.

P. Henry, O Heav'n, they did too much Injur
That ever said I hearkned to your Death.
If it were so, I might have let alone
The insulting Hand of Dowglass over you,
Which would have been as ipeedy in your end,

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