Douglas.
Hot.
My uncle is return'd.
Deliver up my Lord of Westmorland.
Uncle, what news?
Wor.
The King will bid you battle, presently.
Dou.
Defy him, by the Lord of Westmorland.
Hot.
Lord Douglas, go you then, and tell him so.
Dou.
Marry, I shall, and very willingly.
[Exit Douglas.
Wor.
There is no seeming mercy in the King.
Hot.
Did you beg any? heav'n 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.
-- 67 --
Enter Douglas.
Dou.
Arm, gentlemen, to arms; for I have thrown
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth:
And Westmorland, that was engag'd, did bear it;
Which cannot chuse but bring him quickly on.
Wor.
The Prince of Wales stept 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 shew'd his talking? 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,
Trim'd up your praises with a princely tongue,
Spoke your deservings like a chronicle,
Making you ever better than his praise;
And, which became him like a Prince indeed,
He made a blushing cital* note 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 out-live the envy of this day,
England did never owe so sweet a hope,
So much misconstrued in his wantonness† note.
Hot.
Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured
Upon his follies:
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!
-- 68 --
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,
Tho' life did ride upon a dial's point,
Still ending at th' arrival of an hour:
And if we live, we live to tread on Kings;
If die, brave death, when princes die with us* note!
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 I draw my sword,
Whose worthy temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal,
In the adventure of this perilous day.
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.
[They embrace. The Trumpets sound.
Now, Esperance!—Percy!—and set on.
[Exeunt.
Alarm to the Battle. Enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt.
What is thy name, that thus in battle crossest me?
What honour dost thou seek upon my head?
Dou.
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.
Dou.
The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought
Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, King Harry,
-- 69 --
This sword hath ended him; so shall it thee,
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.
Blunt.
I was not born to yield, thou haughty Scot,
And thou shalt find a King that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death.
Fight, Blunt is slain: then enter Hotspur.
Hot.
O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
I ne'er had triumph'd o'er a Scot.
Dou.
All's done, all's won, here breathless lies the
King.
Hot.
Where?
Dou.
Here.
Hot.
This, Douglas? no; I know his face, full well:
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt,
Semblably furnish'd like the King himself.
Dou.
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a King?
Hot.
Up, and away!
Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.
[Exeunt.
Alarm. Enter Falstaff solus.
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: heav'n keep lead out of me,
I need no more weight, than mine own bowels! I have
led my rag-o-muffins where they are pepper'd: 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
come's here?
Enter Prince Henry.
P. Henry.
What, stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy sword:
Many a noble man lies stark and stiff,
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
Whose deaths are unreveng'd. Lend me thy sword.
-- 70 --
Fal.
O, Hal, I pr'ythee give me leave to breathe a
while. Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms,
as I have done, this day. I have paid Percy; I have
made him sure.
P. Henry.
He is, indeed, and living to kill thee.
I pr'ythee lend me thy sword.
Fal.
Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett'st not my
sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.
P. Henry.
Give it me: what, is it in the case?
Fal.
Ay, Hal, 'tis hot. There's that will sack a city.
[The prince draws out a bottle of sack.
P. Henry.
What, is't a time to jest and dally, now?
[Throws it at him, and exit.
Fal.
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. Give me
life, which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes
unlook'd-for, and there's an end.
Another part of the Field of Battle.
Alarm. Enter Hotspur, meeting Prince Henry.
Hot.
If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
P. Henry.
Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.
Hot.
My name is Harry Percy.
P. Henry.
Then I see
A very valiant rebel of that name.
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 heav'n
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!
P. Henry.
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.
[Fight.
-- 71 --
Enter Falstaff.
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. The Prince kills Hotspur* note.
Hot.
Oh, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth!
I better brook the loss of brittle life,
Than those proud titles 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 prophecy,
But that the earthy and cold hand of death,
Lies on my tongue! No, Percy, thou art dust,
And food for—
[Dies.
P. Henry.
Worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well!
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.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heav'n!
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remember'd in thy epitaph† note!
[He sees Falstaff.
-- 72 --
—What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life? poor Jack, farewel!
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 a dearer in this bloody fray:
Imbowel'd will I see thee, by-and-by,
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie.
[Exit.
Falstaff rises.
* noteFal.
Imbowel'd!—if thou imbowel me, to-day, I'll
give you leave to powder me, and eat me, to-morrow!
'Twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot
had paid me scot and lot, too. Counterfeit! 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. I am afraid of this gun-powder 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
kill'd him. Why may not he rise, as well as I? nothing
confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me;
therefore, sirrah, with a new wound in your thigh,
come you along with me.
[Takes Hotspur on his back.
-- 73 --
Enter Prince Henry and Lord John of Lancaster.
P. Henry.
Come, Brother John, full bravely hast thou flesht
Thy maiden sword.
Lan.
But soft! whom have we here?
Did not you tell me this fat man was dead?
P. Henry.
I did; I saw him dead,
And breathless on the ground. Art thou alive?
Or is it fancy plays upon our eye-sight?
I pr'ythee speak, we will not trust our eyes
Without our ears! thou art not what thou seem'st.
Fal.
No, that's certain; I am not a double man;
but if I am not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There
is Percy for you: if your father will do me any honour,
so; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself.
I look either to be earl or duke, I can assure you.
P. Henry.
Why, Percy I kill'd myself, and saw thee
dead.
Fal.
Did'st thou? lord! lord! how the world is giv'n
to lying! I grant you, I was down, and out of breath,
and so was he; but we rose both at an instant, and
fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock: If I may
be believ'd, so; if not, let them that should reward
valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take't
on my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh:
if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would
make him eat a piece of my sword* note.
Lan.
This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard.
P. Henry.
This is the strangest fellow, brother John.
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back:
For my part, if a lye may do thee grace,
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
[A retreat is sounded.
The trumpets sound retreat, the day is ours:
Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field—
To see what friends are living; who are dead!
[Exeunt.
-- 74 --
Fal.
I'll follow (as they say) for reward. He that
rewards me, heav'n reward him! if I do grow great,
I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and live
cleanly, as a nobleman should do.
[Exit.
The trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales,
Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmorland, with
Worcester and Vernon prisoners.
K. Henry.
Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.
Ill-spirited Wor'ster, did we not send grace,
Pardon, and terms of love, to all of you?
And would'st thou turn our offers contrary?
Wor.
What I have done, my safety urg'd me to;
And I embrace this fortune patiently,
Since not to be avoided it falls on me.
K. Henry.
Bear Worcester to death, and Vernon too.
Other offenders we will pause upon.
[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded.
K. Henry.
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway,
Meeting the check of such another day;
And since this business so far fair is done,
Let us not leave, till all our own be won.
[Exeunt.* note
