P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine; it is all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy, to make thee long winded; if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not ashamed?

Fal. Rob me the exchequer, the first thing thou deest, and do it with unwashed hands too. Bard. Do, my lord.

P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. Where

Fal. I would, it had been of horse.
shall I find one that can steal well? O for a fine
thief, of the age of two and twenty, or thereabouts
I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked
for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous;
I laud them, I praise them.
P. Hen. Bardolph.
Bard. My lord.

P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of
Lancaster,

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou My seest I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my pocket?

P. Hen. It appears so by the story.

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest, Still? - - Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. Now, Hal, to the news at court: lad, How is that answered?

am pacified.
[Exit Hostess.]
For the robbery,

P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee:-The money is paid back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour.

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing.

brother John; this to my lord of Westmore-
land. -

Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I,
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
Jack,

Meet me to-morrow i'the Temple-hall:
At two o'clock i'the afternoon :

There shalt thou know thy charge; and there re-
ceive

Money, and order for their furniture.

The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
And either they, or we, must lower lie.

[Exeunt PRINCE, POINS, and BARDOLPH. Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess,

my breakfast; come:

O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. [Erit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. - The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter HOTSPUR, Worcester, and DOUGLAS.
Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking truth,
In this fine age, were not thought flattery,
Such attribution should the Douglas have,
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so general current through the world.
By heaven, I cannot flatter; defy
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself:
Nay, task me to the word; approve me, lord.
Doug. Thou art the king of honour :
No man so potent breathes upon the ground,
But I will beard him.

Hot.

Do so, and 'tis well-
Enter a Messenger, with letters.

What letters hast thou there?-I can but thank

you.

Mess. These letters come from your father, -
Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not him-
self?

Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous
sick.

Hot. 'Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick,
In such a justling time? Who leads his power?
Under whose government come they along?

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord.
Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?
Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth;

And at the time of my departure thence,
He was much fear'd by his physicians.

Wor. I would, the state of time had first been
whole,

Ere he by sickness had been visited;

His health was never better worth than now.
Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth
infect

The very life-blood of our enterprize :
'Tis catching hither, even to our camp.
He writes me here, that inward sickness ·
And that his friends by deputation could not
So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet,
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust
On any soul remov'd, but on his own.
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
That with our small conjunction, we should on,
To see how fortune is dispos'd to us ;
For, as he writes, there is no quailing now;
Because the king is certainly possess'd
Of all our purposes.
What say you to it?
Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.
Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off': —
And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want
Seems more than we shall find it:

good,

- Were it

To set the exact wealth of all our states
All at one cast? to set so rich a main
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?
It were not good: for therein should we read
The very bottom and the soul of hope;

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, dity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside, And bid it pass?

Which of us fears.

Yea, or to-night.

Content.

Doug.
Ver.

Hot. To-night, say I.

Ver.

had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the dead | Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle,
bodies. No eye hath seen such scare-crows. I'll
not march through Coventry with them, that's flat;
-Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the
legs, as if they had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the
most of them out of prison. There's but a shirt
and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is
two napkins, tacked together, and thrown over the
shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves; and
the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at
Saint Alban's, or the red-nose inn-keeper of Dain-
try: But that's all one; they'll find linen enough
on every hedge.

Enter PRINCE HENRY and WESTMORELAND.
P. Hen. How now, blown Jack? how now quilt?
Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? what a
devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My good lord
of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy; I thought,
your honour had already been at Shrewsbury.

West. 'Faith, sir Jolin, 'tis more than time that I were there, and you too; but my powers are there already: The king, I can tell you, looks for us all; we must away all night.

Fal. Tut, never fear me; I am as vigilant, as a cat to steal cream.

P. Hen. I think, to steal cream indeed; for thy
theft hath already made thee butter.
But tell me,
Jack; Whose fellows are these that come after?
Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.

P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals.
Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss food for
powder, food for powder; they'll fill a' pit, as well
as better tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
West. Ay, but, sir John, methinks they are ex-
ceeding poor and bare; too beggarly.
Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, I know not where
they had that and for their bareness, — I am sure,
they never learned that of me.

Doug. You give him then advantage.
Ver.
Not a whit.
Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply?
Ver. So do we.

Hot.
His is certain, ours is doubtful.
Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night.
Ver. Do not, my lord.
Doug.

You do not counsel well;
You speak it out of fear, and cold heart.

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life,
(And I dare well maintain it with my life,)
If well-respected honour bid me on,
I hold as little counsel with weak fear,

As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives:

|

Come, come, it may not be.
I wonder much, being men of such great leading,
That you foresee not what impediments
Drag back our expedition: Certain horse
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up:
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day;
And now their pride and mettle is asleep,
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,
That not a horse is half the half himself.

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy
In general, journey-bated, and brought low;
The better part of ours is full of rest.

Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours:
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.

[The trumpet sounds a parley,

Enter Sir WALTER BLUNT.

Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.

Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; And 'would to God,

You were of our determination!

Some of us love you well: and even those some
Envy your great deserving, and good name;
Because you are not of our quality,
But stand against us like an enemy.

Blunt. And God defend, but still I should stand so,
So long as, out of limit, and true rule,
You stand against anointed majesty!
But, to my charge. The king hath sent to know
The nature of your griefs; and whereupon
You conjure from the breast of civil peace
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land
Audacious cruelty: If that the king
Have any way your good deserts forgot,
Which he confesseth to be manifold,
He bids you name your griefs; and, with all speed,
You shall have your desires, with interest;
And pardon absolute for yourself, and these,
Herein misled by your suggestion.

Hot. The king is kind; and, well we know, the
king

Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
My father, and my uncle, and myself,

-

Did give him that same royalty he wears:
And,- when he was not six and twenty strong,
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,
My father gave him welcome to the shore:
And,- when he heard him swear and vow to God,
He came but to be duke of Lancaster,
To sue his livery, and beg his peace;
With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal,
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,
Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too.
Now, when the lords, and barons of the realm
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him,
The more and less came in with cap and knee;
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages;
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,

Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,
Gave him their heirs; as pages follow'd him,
Even at the heels, in golden multitudes.
He presently, -as greatness knows itself, —
Steps me a little higher than hus vow

ACT V.

For mine own part, I could be well content

To entertain the lag-end of my life

With quiet hours; for, I do protest,

I have not sought the day of this dislike.

More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
To grace this latter age with noble deeds.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
I have a truant been to chivalry;

K. Hen. You have not sought it! how comes it And so, I hear, he doth account me too :
then?

Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
P. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace.

Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks
Of favour, from myself, and all our house;
And yet I must remember you, my lord,
We were the first and dearest of your friends.
For you, my staff of office did I break

In Richard's time; and posted day and night
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand,
When yet you were in place and in account
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
It was myself, my brother, and his son,
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare
The dangers of the time: You swore to us, —
And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state;
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:
To this we swore our aid. But, in short space,
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head;
And such a flood of greatness fell on you,
What with our help; what with the absent king;
What with the injuries of a wanton time;
The seeming sufferances that you had borne;
And the contrarious winds, that held the king
So long in his unlucky Irish wars,
That all in England did repute him dead,
And, from this swarm of fair advantages,
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
To gripe the general sway into your hand:
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ;
And, being fed by us, you us'd us so
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,
Useth the sparrow: did oppress our nest;
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk,

That even our love durst not come near your sight,
For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing
We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present head:
Whereby we stand opposed by such means
As you yourself have forg'd against yourself;
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
And violation of all faith and troth
Sworn to us in your younger enterprize.

K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have arti-
culated,

Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches;
To face the garment of rebellion

With some fine colour, that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents,
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news
Of hurlyburly innovation :

And never yet did insurrection want
Such water-colours, to impaint his cause;
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time,

Of pellmell havock and confusion.

Yet this before my father's majesty, ·

I am content, that he shall take the odds
Of his great name and estimation;
And will, to save the blood on either side,
Try fortune with him in a single fight.

K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,

Albeit, considerations infinite

Do make against it: — - No, good Worcester, no,
We love our people well; even those we love.
That are misled upon your cousin's part:
And, will they take the offer of our grace,
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man
Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his :
So tell your cousin, and bring me word
What he will do: - - But if he will not yield,
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
And they shall do their office. So, be gone
We will not now be troubled with reply:
We offer fair, take it advisedly.

[Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON.
P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life:
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
Are confident against the world in arms.
K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his
charge;

For, on their answer, will we set on them:
And God befriend us, as our cause is just!

[Exeunt KING, BLUNT, and PRINCE JOHN. Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship.

[Erit.

P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. Fal. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning! - Who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it:therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.

SCENE II. The Rebel Camp.

Enter WORCESTER and VERNON.

[Erit.

Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir
Richard,

P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul The liberal kind offer of the king.

Shall pay full dearly for this encounter,

If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,

The prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Henry Percy: By my hopes, -
This present enterprize set off his head, -

I do not think a braver gentleman,

More active-valiant, or more valiant-young,

Ver. 'Twere best, he did.
Wor.

Then are we all undone.

It is not possible, it cannot be,
The king should keep his word in loving us:
He will suspect us still, and find a time
To punish this offence in other faults:
Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes: