Scroop.
Now comes the season of commotion on.
The French ambassadors have had their audience,
And carry back defiance to their master.
The nettled Harry arms, mean-time, for France;
Inviting all the gallant youths of Britain,
To join his rashness in this expedition.

Cam.
We must with him too.

Scroop.
Curse on his favour: yes; he means, forsooth,
To do us honour.

Cam.
Had we staid at home,
We might, perhaps, have seiz'd some fair occasion
To strike the crown off his usurping head,
And place it on the rightful brows of Mortimer.
The legate is already our staunch friend,
And France will aid our plot t' ensure success:
Yet still we cannot make our party strong.
While Harry keeps that eagle eye upon us,
At ev'ry step we stumble on suspicion.

Scroop.
Why, if his eye offend thee, pluck it out.

Cam.
Would he were out o'th' way.

Scroop.
Canst thou not send him?
No time more opportune could have been wish'd,
Than when, full fledg'd and on the wing for France,
His troops embark'd, and all intent on conquest,
He means to follow. Might he not be sent
A longer journey than from hence to Normandy?

Cam.
Whither?

Scroop.
To heav'n.

Cam.
Would he, indeed, were there.

Scroop.
Couldst thou not strike a blow? a home one.

Cam.
Ha!

Scroop.
Could not thy poniard steal into his heart?

Cam.
'Twere better guided by some other hand.
In open fight I could encounter lions;
But bear no steady point i' th' trade of murther.

Scroop.
In open fight! and wouldst thou covet hazard?
Who seeks thro' danger to obtain the end,
That may be reach'd without, may boast an heart;
But gives strong proofs o'th' weakness of his head.

Cam.
Scroop, I object not unto Harry's death;
Nor to the safest means to cut him off:
I only would not be his executioner.
Who means to profit by the murd'rer's work,
Shold never bear the odium of his guilt.

Scroop.
I did not mean you e'er should profit by't.
But fear makes blockheads cunning. [Aside.
Cambridge, methinks thou shouldst be first to strike:
Whose is the cause, but Mortimer's and thine?

Cam.
And yet I will not be myself th' assassin:
It would be both impolitick and dangerous:
I wonder, Scroop, thy prudence sees it not.
Villains enow there are for such employ:
Had we not better hire some ruffian's poniard;
One whose miscarriage might not even reach us;
And yet, succeeding, on whose worthless head
The vengeance of the publick hate might fall;
We seeming but the while to take th' advantage
Of such an accident to raise up Mortimer.

Scroop.
Curse on't. Th' affair is thine: there's not a villain
Money will bribe but will his int'rest find
As much in his betraying us.

Cam.
I would not trust to interest alone:
But a deep-grounded hate and fix'd resentment
Against th' usurper's person may do much.

Scroop.
Who bears him such good-will?

Cam.
The banish'd Falstaff;
His late most hopeful tutor and companion;
A finish'd villain!

Scroop.
Yes, too much a villain.
Damn him he has not honesty enough.

Cam.
If but his hatred's amply keen 'twill do:
And, if I'm well inform'd, you now will find him
For mischief ripe, and thirsty for revenge.

Scroop.
Harry hath treated him, indeed, but roughly;
But all such dastard wretches can forgive.
Besides, they say he's but a blustring coward,
That wears his dagger only in his mouth.

Cam.
Yes, he can stab. This, Scroop, is coward's work.
He hates young Harry, and with grounded reason;
I cannot think but, comes this task a foot,
He's a most proper villain.

Scroop.
I will sound him;
And as I find him sitting for our purpose,
Will seek to bind him fast unto our service.
Mean time, neglect not thou Sir Thomas Grey,
Who wishes well to thee and to our cause.

Cam.
I will not.

Scroop.
Neither is it less expedient
To teach thy sword less honour and more safety.
Say Harry falls, three brothers yet remain;
And ere thyself, or Mortimer, succeed
The sons of Bolingbroke must freely bleed. [Exeunt, severally.

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