By still dispraising praise, valued with you, England did never owe so sweet a hope, But be he as he will, yet once ere night I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, 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 Messenger. Mess. 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, Still ending at the arrival of an hour. Enter another Messenger. Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, For I profess not talking. Only this,— Let each man do his best: and here draw I For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall [The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt 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 the battle thus Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek 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. Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, King Harry, 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 triumphed upon a Scot. Doug. All's done, all's won: here breathless lies the king. Hot. Where? Doug. Here. Hot. This, Douglas? no; I know this face full well: A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt, Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes! Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, Hot. Up, and away! Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt 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 are you? 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 ragamuffins 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? Enter Prince HENRY. P. Hen. What! stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy sword: Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths are unrevenged: pr'ythee, lend me thy sword. Fal. O Hal! I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe awhile.-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 gett'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. 'T is hot, 't is hot: there's that will sack a city. [The PRINCE draws out a bottle of sack. |