Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king.
Hot. Did you beg any? God forbid !
Wor. I told him gently of our grievances,
Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,-
By now forswearing that he is forsworn:
He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge
With haughty arms this hateful name in us.

Re-enter Douglas.

Blunt. What is thy name, that in the 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

Doug. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, king Harry,
thrown

A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth,
And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it;
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.
Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before
the king,

And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight.

Hot. O, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads;
And that no man might draw short breath to-day,
But I, and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me,
How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt ?
Ver. No, by my soul; I never in my life
Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly,
Unless a brother should a brother dare
To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
He gave you all the duties of a man;

Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue;
Spoke your deservings like a chronicle;
Making you ever better than his praise,
By still dispraising praise, valued with you:
And, which became him like a prince indeed,
He made a blushing cital of himself;

And chid his truant youth with such a grace,
As if he master'd there a double spirit,
Of teaching, and of learning, instantly.

There did he pause; But let me tell the world,-
If he outlive the envy of this day,
England did never owe so sweet a hope,
So much misconstrued in his wantonness.

Het. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured

Upon his follies; never did I hear

Of any prince, so wild, at liberty:-
But, be he as he will, yet once ere night

I will embrace him with a soldier's arm,
That he shall shrink under my courtesy.
Arm, arm, with speed:And, fellows, soldiers,
friends,

Better consider what you have to do,
Than 1, 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,
If life did ride upon a dial's point,
Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
And if we live, we live to tread on kings;
If die, brave death, when princes die with us!
Now for our consciences, the arms are fair,
When the intent of bearing them is just.

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
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal
In the adventure of this perilous day.
Now, Esperance !-Percy!-and set on.-
Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
And by that musick let us all embrace:
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesy.

[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt.
SCENE III.-Plain near Shrewsbury.

Excursions, and parties fighting. Alarum to the battle. Then enter Douglas und Blunt, meeting.

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.

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;
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself.
Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither 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 marching 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;

Hot.
Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt.

Other 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 my own bowels.-I have led my raggamuffins where they are peppered: there's but 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 unreveng'd: Pr'ythee lend 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 Fercy,
I have made him sure.

P. Hen. He is, indeed: and living to kill thee.
Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee.

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 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 1 Give me life which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there's an end.

SCENE IV.-Another part of the Field.

Alarums.

[Exit.

Excursions. Enter the King, Prince
Henry, Prince John, and Westmoreland.
K. Hen. I pr'ythee,

Harry, withdraw thyself; thon 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 will 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,
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres !

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 heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lan-
caster,

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.

Lends mettle to us all.

O, this boy

[Exit.

Alarums. Enter Douglas.

I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,
To share with me in glory any more :
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere :
Nor can one England brook a double reign,
Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales.

Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come
To end the one of us; And 'would to God,
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!
P. Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee;
And all the budding honours on thy crest
I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities.

Enter Falstaff.

[They fight.

Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal-Nay, you shall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. Enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hotspur is wounded, and falls.

Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my
youth:

I better brook the loss of brittle life,
Than those proud tities thou hast won of me;
They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword
my flesh:

But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool;
And time, that takes survey of all the world,
Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy,
But that the earthy and cold hand of death
Lies on my tongue :-No, Percy, thou art dust,
[Dies.

Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's And food for 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; so defend thyself.

Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit ;
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king:
But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be,
And thus I win thee.

[They fight the King being in danger, enter Prince Henry.

P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art
like

Never to hold it up again! the spirits
Of 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 heaven! they did me too much injury,
That ever said, I hearken'd for your death.
If it were so, I might have let alone
The insulting hand of Douglas over you;
Which would have been as speedy in your end,
As all the poisonous potions in the world,
And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son.
K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas
Gawsey.
[Exit King Henry.

P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy: Fare thee
well, great heart!-

Ill weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk !
When that this body did contain a spirit,
A kingdom for it was too small a bound;
But now, two paces of the vilest earth

Is room enough :- This earth, that bears thee dead
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
If thou wert sensible of courtesy,

I should not make so dear a show of zeal :-
But let my favours hide thy mangled face;
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself
For doing these fair rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remember'd in thy epitaph!-

[He sees Falstaff on the ground.
What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!
I could have better spar'd a better man.
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,
If I were much in love with vanity.
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray :-
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by:
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie.

[Exit.

Fal. [Rising slowly.] Embowelled! if thou embowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder me, and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit ? I lie, I am no counterfeit: To die is to be a counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeed. The better part of valour is-discretion; in the which better part, I have saved my life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead: How, if he should counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid, he

would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll |
make him sure: yea, and I'll swear I killed him.
Why may not he rise, as well as I? Nothing con- The
futes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore,
sirrah, [stabbing him.] with a new wound in your
thigh, come you along with me.

[Takes Hotspur on his back.
Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John.
P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast

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.

North.

Ha! Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion

Had met ill luck!

Bard.

My lord, I'll tell you what

If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken point

I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

breath'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
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
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
;-Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,

Fly from the field: Then was that noble Wor-
cester

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot,

Travers,

Give then such instances of loss?

Bard.
Who, he?
He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n
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,
Foretells the nature of a tragick volume:
So looks the strond, whereon the 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,
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
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 ;

Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies;
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 a truth. If he be slain, say so:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:

The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs; and, in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
Is, that the king hath won; and hath sent out
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.
North. For this I shall have time enough to

mourn.

In poison there is physick; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hing s, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves: hence therefore, thou nice

crutch:

A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly
quoif;

Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit..
Now bind my brows with iron: And approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heav'n kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my
lord.

Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your
honour.

Mor. The lives of all your loving complices
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
And summ'd the account of chance, before you
said,-

Let us make head. It was your presurmise,
That in the dole of blows your son might drop:
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er: