Hotspur.
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 gen'ral current through the world.
By heaven, I cannot flatter! I defy
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself:
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, Lord.

Dou.
Thou art the king of honour;
No man so potent breathes upon the ground,
But I will beard him. Enter a Messenger.

Hot.
Do so, and 'tis well—what letters hast thou there?—

Mes.
These come from your father.

Hot.
Letters from him? why comes he not himself?

Mes.
He cannot come, my Lord; he's grievous sick.

Hot.
Heavens! how has he the leisure to be sick* ^note,
In such a justling time? who leads his power?
Under whose government come they along?

Mes.
His letters bear his mind, not I, my Lord.

Hot.
His mind!

Wor.
I pr'ythee tell me, doth he keep his bed?

Mes.
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. [Exit.

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:
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 possest
Of all our purposes. What say you to it?

Wor.
I well could wish your father had been here:
The quality and hair of our attempt,
Brooks no division. It will be thought
By some, that know not why he is away,
That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike
Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence.
This absence of your father draws a curtain,
That shews the ignorant a kind of fear,
Before not dreamt upon.

Hot.
You strain too far.
I rather of his absence make this use:
It lends a lustre and more great opinion,
A larger dare to our great enterprize,
Than if the earl were here; for men must think,
If we without his help can make a head,
To push against the kingdom, with his help
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.

Dou.
As heart can think; there is not such a word
Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear. Enter Sir Richard Vernon.

Hot.
My Cousin Vernon, welcome, by my soul!

Ver.
Pray heaven my news be worth a welcome, Lord.

The earl of Westmorland, seven thousand strong,
Is marching hitherward, with Prince John.

Hot.
No harm: what more?

Ver.
And further, I have learn'd,
The King himself in person hath set forth,
Or hitherwards intended speedily,
With strong and mighty preparation.

Hot.
He shall be welcome, too. Where is his son,
The nimble-footed mad-cap Prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that daft the world aside,
And bid it pass?

Ver.
All furnish'd, all in arms* ^note,
All plum'd like estridges, that with the wind
Baited like eagles, having lately bath'd;
Glittering in golden coats like images,
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the sun at Midsummer;
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rise from the ground, like feather'd Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an angel dropt down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship.

Hot.
No more, no more! worse than the sun in March,
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come:
They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-ey'd maid of smokey war,
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them.
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit,
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,
And yet not ours. Come, let me take my horse,

Who is to bear me, like a thunder-bolt,
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.
Harry to Harry shall (and horse to horse)
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a coarse.
Oh, that Glendower were come!

Ver.
There is more news.
I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days,

Dou.
That's the worst tidings that I hear of, yet.

Wor.
Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.

Hot.
What may the King's whole battle reach unto?

Ver.
To thirty thousand.

Hot.
Forty let it be:
My father and Glendower being both away,
The power of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us take a muster speedily;
Doom's-day is near: die all, die merrily. [A march. [Exeunt

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