Wor. The King will bid you Battel presently. Exit Dowglafs. Wor. There is no feeming Mercy in the King. Dow. Arm, Gentlemen, to Arms, for I have thrown And Westmorland that was ingag'd did bear it, Wor. The Prince of Wales ftept forth before the King, And chide his trewant Youth fo with a Grace, Hot. Hot. Coufin, I think thou art enamoured But be he as he will, yet once e'er Night, Arm, arm with speed. And Fellows, Soldiers, Friends, Than I, that have not well the Gift of Tongue, Enter a Messenger. Mef. My Lord, here are Letters for you. O Gentlemen, the time of Life is short: Enter another Meffenger. Mef. My Lord, prepare, the King comes on apace. For I profefs not talking: Only this, Let each Man do his beft. And here I draw my Sword, They embrace, then Exeunt. The Trumpets found, the King entreth with his Power,alarm unto the Battel. Then enter Dowglafs and Sir Walter Blunt. Blunt. What is thy Name, that in Battel thus thou croffeft What Honour doft thou feek upon my Head? (me? And I do haunt thee in the Battel thus, Blunt Blunt. They tell thee true. Dow. The Lord of Stafford dear to Day hath bought Thy Likeness; for inftead of thee, King Harry, This Sword hath ended him, fo fhall it thee, Unless thou yield thee as a Prifoner. Blunt. I was not born to yield, thou haughty Scot, Fight, Blunt is flain, then enter Hot-fpur. Hot. O Dowglafs, hadft thou fought at Holmedon thus, I never had triumphed o'er a Scot. Dow. All's done, all's won, here breathlefs lyes the King. Hot. Where? Dow. Here. Hot. This, Douglass? No, I know this Face full well: Dow. Ah! Fool go with thy Soul whither it goes, Hot. Up and away. Our Soldiers ftand full fairly for the Day. Alarm, enter Falstaff folus. [Exeunt. Fal. Though I could fcape fhot-free at London, I fear the Shot here: Here's no fcoring, 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'n 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; there'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 ftand'ft thou idle here? lend me thy Sword, Many a noble Man lyes ftark and ftiff Under the Hoofs of vaunting Enemies, Whose Deaths are unreveng'd. Prithee lend me thy Sword. Fal. Fal. O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breath a while. Turk Gregory never did fuch Deeds in Arms, as I have done this Day. I have paid Percy, I have made him fure. 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'ft not my Sword: but take my Pistol if thou wilt. P. Henry. Give it me: What, is it in the Cafe? [The Prince draws out a Bottle of Sack. P. Henry. What, is it a time to jeft 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, fo; if he do not, if I come in his, willingly, let him make a Carbonado of me. I like not fuch grinning Honour as Sir Walter hath: Give me Life, which if I can fave, fo; if not, Honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. [Exit. Alarm, Excursions, Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and the Earl of Weftmorland. K. Henry. I prithee, Harry, withdraw thy felf, thou bleedeft too much: Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. Lan. Not I, my Lord, unless I did bleed too. P. Henry. I bef ech your Majefty make up, Leaft your Retirement do amaze your Friends. K. Henry. I will do fɔ: My Lord of Westmorland, lead him to his Tent. Weft. Come my Lord, I'll lead you to your Tent. P. Henry. Lead me, my Lord! I do not need your Help, And Heav'n forbid a fhallow Scratch fhould drive The Prince of Wales from fuch a Field as this, Lan. We breath too long; come Coufin Westmorland, Our Duty this Way lyes, for Heav'ns fake come. P. Henry. By Heav'n thou haft deceiv'd me, Lancaster, I did not think thee Lord of fuch a Spirit: Before, Before, I lov'd thee as a Brother, John; But now, I do refpect thee as my Soul. K. Henry. I faw him hold Lord Percy at the Point, With luftier Maintenance than I did look for Of fuch an ungrown Warrior. P. Henry. O this Boy, lends Mettle to us all. [Exit. Énter Dowglafs. Dow. Another King? They grow like Hydra's Heads: I am the Douglass fatal to all thofe That wear thole Colours on them. What art thou That counterfeit'ft the Perfon of a King? [Heart K. Henry. The King himself; who, Dowglass, grieves at So many of his Shadows thou haft met, And not the very King. I have two Boys Seek Percy and thy felf about the Field; But feeing thou fall'ft on me fo luckily I will affay thee: So defend thy felf. Dow. I fear thou art another Counterfeit; And yet in faith thou bear'st thee like a King: But mine I am fure thou art, who e'er thou be, And thus I win thee. [They fight: The King being in Danger, Enter 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; [They fight, Dowglafs flyeth. P. Henry. O Heav'n, they did too much Injury, As |