Poins. O, 'tis our Setter, I know his voice. 9 Bardolph. What news?

Gads. Cafe ye, cafe ye; on with your visors; 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.

Gads. There's enough to make us all.

Fal. To be hang'd.

P. Henry. Sirs, you four fhall front them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower; if they 'scape from your encounter, then they light on us. Peto. But how many be of them? Gads. Some eight or ten.

Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us?

P. Henry. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch. Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal.

P. Henry. Well, we'll leave that to the proof. Poins. Sirrah, Jack, thy horfe ftands behind the hedge; when thou need'ft him, there halt thou find him. Farewel, and stand fast.

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 business.

SCENE IV.

Enter Travellers.

Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy fhall lead our horfes down the hill: we'll walk a foot a while, and cafe our legs.

Thieves. Stand,

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 knaves, are you undone? no, ye fat chuffs, I would your ftore were here. On, bacons, on! what, ye knaves? young men muft live; you are grand jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, i'faith. [Here they rob and bind them: Exeunt.

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 argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jeft for ever.

Poins. Stand clofe, I hear them coming.

Enter Thieves again at the other part of the stage.

Fal. Come, my mafters, let us fhare, and then to horse before day; an the Prince and Poins be not two arrant Cowards, there's no equity ftirring. 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 fet upon them. They all run away, and Falstaff after a blow

blow or two runs away too, leaving the booty behind them.]

P. Henry. Got with much ease. Now merrily to
horfe :

The thieves are fcatter'd, and poffeft with fear
So strongly, that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.

Away, good Ned. Now Falstaff fweats to death,
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Were't not for laughing, I fhould pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd!

B

Enter Hot-fpur folus, reading a letter.

[Exeunt.

UT for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in refpect of the love I bear your Houfe. He could be contented to be there; why is he not then? in refpect of the love he bears our Houfe! he fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our House. Let me fee fome more. The purpose 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, fafety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time it felf unforted, and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoize of fo great an oppofition. Say 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? By the lord, our plot is a good 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 action. By this hand, if I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not befides, the Dowglas? have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are there not fome of them fet forward already? What a Pagan rafcal is this? an 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 myself, and go to buffets, for moving fuch a difh of fkimm'd milk with fo honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared; I will fet forward to night.

How now, Kate! I must leave you within these 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 ftomach, pleasure, and thy golden fleep?
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 treafures and my rights of thee,
To thick-ey'd mufing, and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint flumbers 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 fallies, and retires; of trenches, tents,

Of

Of palifadoes, frontiers', parapets;
Of bafilifks, of cannon, culverin,

Of prisoner's ransom, and of foldiers flain,
And all the current of a heady fight.

2

Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath fo beftir'd thee in thy fleep,
That beads of fweat have stood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late difturbed ftream;

And in thy face ftrange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men reftrain their breath
On fome great fudden hafte. O, what portents are
these?

Some heavy business 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 horse, my lord, he brought ev'n 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 ftrait.

O 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 carries you away?
Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horfe.
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!

3

A weazle

3 Out, you mad-headed ape!] This and the following speech of the lady are in the early editions printed as profe; thofe editions are indeed in fuch cafes of no great authority, but perL 3 haps