SCENE III.-Plain near Shrewsbury.
Excursions, and Parties fighting, Alarum to the Battle.
Then enter DOUGLAS and BLUNT, meeting.
Blunt. What is thy name, that in battle thus
Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek
Upon my
head?
Doug.
Know, then, my name is Douglas;
And I do haunt thee in the battle thus,
Because some tell me that thou art a king.

Blunt. They tell thee true.

Doug. 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 my prisoner.

Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death. [They fight, and BLUNT is slain.
Enter HOTSPUR.

Hot. O Douglas! hadst thou fought at Holmedon
thus,

I never had triumph'd upon a Scot.

do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his,
willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not
such grinning honour as sir Walter hath: give me life;
which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked
for, and there's an end.
[Exit.

SCENE IV.-Another Part of the Field.
Alarums. Excursions. Enter the KING, Prince HENRY,
Prince JOHN, and WESTMORELAND.

K. Hen. I pr'ythee,

Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much.-
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.

P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.
P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up,
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.

K. Hen. I will do so.-My lord of Westmoreland,
Lead him to his tent.

West. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your tent.
P. Hen. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help :
And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive
The prince of Wales from such a field as this,
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on,

Doug. All's done, all's won: here breathless lies the And rebels' arms triumph in massacres !
king.

Hot. Where?

Doug. Here.

Hot. This, Douglas? no; I know this face full well:
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt,
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself.

Doug. A fool go with thy soul, where'er it goes!
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear:
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?

Hot. The king hath many masking in his coats.
Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;
I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece,
Until I meet the king.

Up, and away !

[Exeunt.

:

Hot. Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. Alarums. Enter FALSTAFF. 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 molten lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. -I have led my raggamuffins where they are peppered: there's not three of my hundred and fifty left alive, and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here?

P. John. We breathe too long.-Come, cousin Westmoreland,

Our duty this way lies: for God's sake, come.

[Exeunt Prince JOHN and WESTMORELAND.
P. Hen. By God thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster,
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit:
Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John,

But now, I do respect thee as my soul.

K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point,
With lustier maintenance than I did look for
Of such an ungrown warrior.
P. Hen.

O! this boy

[Exit.

Alarums. Enter DOUGLAS.

Lends mettle to us all.

Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads.
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those
That wear those colours on them :—what art thou,
That counterfeit'st the person of a king?

K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves
at heart,

So many of his shadows thou hast met, And not the very king. I have two boys Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field: But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, I will assay thee; and defend thyself. Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit, And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: P. Hen. What! stand'st thou idle here? lend me But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be, thy sword:

Enter Prince HENRY.

Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
Whose deaths are yet unreveng'd. I pr'ythee, lend
me thy sword.

Fal. O Hal! I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe 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. Hen. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. I pr'ythee lend me thy sword.

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. P. Hen. Give it me. What, is it in the case? Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot: there's that will sack a city. [The Prince draws out a bottle of sack. P. Hen. What! is't a time to jest and dally now? [Throws it at him, and exit. Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he

And thus I win thee.

[They fight: the KING being in danger, enter
P. HENRY.

P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like
Never to hold it up again! the spirits
Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms:
It is the prince of Wales that threatens thee,
Who never promiseth, but he means to pay.-

[They fight: DOUGLAS flies.
Cheerly, my lord: how fares your grace?—
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent,
And so hath Clifton; I'll to Clifton straight.
K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while.
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion;
And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life,
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

P. Hen. O God! they did me too much injury,
That ever said I hearken'd for your death.
If it were so, I might have let alone

Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust?
Three knights upon our party slain to-day,
A noble earl, and many a creature else,
Had been alive this hour,

If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne
Betwixt our armies true intelligence.

Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to,
And I embrace this fortune patiently,
Which not to be avoided falls on me.

K. Hen.

With all my heart.

P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you
This honourable bounty shall belong.

Go to the Douglas, and deliver him
Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free:

His valour, shown upon our crests to-day,

Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds,
Even in the bosom of our adversaries.

P. John. I thank your grace for this high courtesy,

K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon Which I shall put in act without delay.

too:

Other offenders we will pause upon.

[Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON, guarded. How goes the field?

P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw
The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him,
The noble Percy slain, and all his men
Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest;
And falling from a hill he was so bruis'd,
That the pursuers took him. At my tent
The Douglas is, and I beseech your grace,
I may dispose of him.

K. Hen. Then this remains, that we divide our
power.-

You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland,
Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed,
To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop,
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms:

Myself, and you, son Harry, will towards Wales,
To fight with Glendower and the earl of March.
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway,
Meeting the check of such another day:
And since this business so fair is done,
Let us not leave till all our own be won.

[Exeunt.

ACT I.

Bard. Who keeps the gate here? ho!-Where is That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. the earl?

Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
And he himself will answer.

[Exit Warder. Here comes the earl.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

Bard.
North. What news, lord Bardolph? every minute

now

Should be the father of some stratagem.
The times are wild: contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.

Bard.

Noble earl,

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, an God will!
Bard.

Foretels the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strond, whereon th' imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.

Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask,
To fright our party.

North.
How doth my son and brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,

As good as heart can wish. And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou would'st say, Your son did thus, and

The king is almost wounded to the death,
And in the fortune of my lord, your son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young prince John,
And Westmoreland and Stafford, fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John,
Is prisoner to your son. O! such a day,
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,
Came not till now to dignify the times,
Since Cæsar's fortunes.

North.

How is this deriv'd?

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from
thence;

A gentleman well-bred, and of good name,
That freely render'd me these news for true.

thus;

Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds,
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with-brother, son, and all are dead.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But for my lord, your son,—

North.

Why, he is dead.—
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
He that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton:

North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent Tell thou thy earl his divination lies,

On Tuesday last to listen after news.

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way, And he is furnish'd with no certainties,

More than he haply may retail from me.

Enter TRAVERS.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with
you?

Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury:
He told me that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
With that he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.

And I will take it as a sweet disgrace,
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true; your fears too certain.
North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's
dead.-

I see a strange confession in thine eye:
Thou shak'st thy head; and hold'st it fear, or sin,
To speak the truth. If he be slain, say so:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death;
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
Not he which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office; and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd knolling a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mor. I am sorry I should force you to believe
That which I would to heaven I had not seen;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd,
To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops:
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest

North. Why should that gentleman, that rode by Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.

Travers,

Give, then, such instances of loss?

Bard.
Who, he?
He was some hilding fellow, that had stolen
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.
Enter MORTON.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,

And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,