Put not you on the visage of the times
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.

Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no

more:

Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.

Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!

The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endeared to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear

Harry,

Threw many a northward look to see his father
Bring up
his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?

There were two honours lost,-yours and your son's:

For yours,-may heavenly glory brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him, as the sun

In the grey vault of heaven: and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts; he was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs that practised not his gait;
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,

Became the accents of the valiant ;

For those that could speak low and tardily
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him; so that, in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,

In military rules, humours of blood,

He was the mark and glass, copy and book,

That fashioned others. And him,-0 wondrous

him!

O miracle of men !-him did you leave-
Second to none, unseconded by you-

To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage; to abide a field.

Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible :—so you left him.
Never, O, never, do his ghost the wrong

To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others than with him: let them alone.
The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong:
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talked of Monmouth's grave.

North.

Beshrew your heart,

Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me,

With new lamenting ancient oversights.

But I must go, and meet with danger there;

Or it will seek me in another place,
And find me worse provided.

Lady N.

O, fly to Scotland,

Till that the nobles and the arméd commons

Have of their puissance made a little taste.
Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the
king,

Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves. So did your son;
He was so suffered; so came I a widow;
And never shall have length of life enough
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
For recordation to my noble husband.

North. Come, come, go in with me. 'T is with my mind

As with the tide swelled up unto its height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way:
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back.
I will resolve for Scotland: there am I,

Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-London.

A Room in the Boar's

Head Tavern, in Eastcheap.

Enter two Drawers.

1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-Johns? thou know'st Sir John cannot endure an apple-John.

2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him, there were five more Sir Johns; and, putting off his hat, said, 'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to the heart; but he hath forgot that.

1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tear-sheet would fain have some music. Despatch :-the room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.

2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the Prince, and Master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons, and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word.

1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis: it will be an excellent stratagem.

2 Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. [Exit

Enter HOSTESS and DOLL TEAR-SHEET.

Host. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now, you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire ; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good truth, la; but, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries, and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say,' What 's this?'-How do you now? Doll. Better than I was :-Hem.

Host. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth of gold.-Lo, here comes Sir John.

Enter FALSTAFF, singing.

Fal. When Arthur first in court'-Empty the jordan [Exit Drawer]—' And was a worthy king.' How now, Mistress Doll?

Host. Sick of a calm; yea, good sooth.

Fal. So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me ?

Fal. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

Doll. I make them! gluttony and diseases make them; I make them not.