King Henry.
How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale,
At his distemperature. [The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon.

K. Henry.
How now, my Lord of Wor'ster? 'tis not well,
That you and I should meet upon such terms,
As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our trust,
And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel:
This is not well, my Lord, this is not well
What say you to't? will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war,
And move in that obedient orb again,
Where you did give a fair and natural light;
And be no more an exhal'd meteor,

A prodigy of fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief, to the unborn times?

Wor.
Hear me, my Liege:—
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag-end of my life,
With quiet hours; for, I do protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.

K. Henry.
You have not sought it, Sir! how comes it then?

Fal.
Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.

P. Henry.
Peace, chewet* ^note! peace!

Wor.
It pleas'd your Majesty to turn your looks
Of favour from myself, and all our house;
And yet, I must remember you, my Lord,
We were the first and dearest of your friends:
For you my staff of office did I break,
In Richard's time, and posted day and night,
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand;
When yet you were, in place, and in account,
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I:
It was myself, my brother, and his son,
That brought you home, and boldly did out-dare
The dangers of the time. You swore to us,
(And you did swear that oath at Doncaster)
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state,
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
The seat of Gaunt, Dukedom of Lancaster:
To this we sware our aid: but in short space
It rain'd down fortune show'ring on your head,
And such a flood of greatness fell on you,
What with our help, what with the absent King,
That, being fed by us, you us'd us so,
As that ungentle gull, the cuckow's bird† ^note,
Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest,
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk,

That ev'n our love durst not come near your sight,
For fear of swallowing; but, with nimble wing,
We were inforc'd, for safety's sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present head* ^note.

K. Henry.
These things, indeed, you have articulated,
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches,
To face the garment of rebellion;
And never yet did insurrection want
Such water-colours to impaint his cause;
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time
Of pell-mell havock and confusion.

P. Henry.
In both our armies, there is many a soul
Shall pay full dearly for this bold encounter,
If once they join in tryal. Tell your nephew,
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world,
In praise of Henry Percy. By my hopes,
(This present enterprize set off his head)
I do not think a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
To grace this latter age with noble deed.
For my part (I may speak it to my shame)
I have a truant been to chivalry,
And so, I hear, he doth account me too:
Yet this, before my father's Majesty—
I am content that he shall take the odds
Of his great name and estimation,
And will, to save the blood on either side,
Try fortune with him in a single fight.

K. Henry.
And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee† ^note;

Albeit, considerations infinite
Do make against it. No, good Wor'ster, no:
We love our people well, even those we love
That are misled upon your cousin's part;
And, will they take the offer of our grace,
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man,
Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his:
So tell your cousin, and return me word
What he will do. But if he will not yield,
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
And they shall do their office. So, be gone;
We will not now be troubled with reply!
We offer fair, take it advisedly. [Exit Worcester, with Vernon.

P. Henry.
It will not be accepted, on my life.
The Douglas and the Hot-spur, both together,
Are confident against the world in arms.

K. Henry.
Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;
For on their answer will we set on them:
And heav'n befriend us, as our cause is just! [Exeunt. Manent Prince Henry and Falstaff.

Fal.

Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship.

P. Henry.

Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that friendship: say thy prayers, and farewel.

Fal.

I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well.

P. Henry.

Why, thou owest heaven a death.

Fal.

Ay, but 'tis not due yet: I would be loth to pay him before his day. [Exit Prince.] What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter, honour pricks me on. But how if honour prick me off, when I come on? how then? can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no, honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is that word, honour? air; a trim reckoning. Who hath it? he that dy'd a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. Is it insensible, then?

yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none of it: honour is a mere scutcheon; and so ends my catechism* ^note.