Wor.
O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard,
The liberal kind Offer of the King.

Ver.
'Twere best he did.

Wor.
Then we are all undone.
It is not possible, it cannot be,
The King would keep his Word in loving us,
He will suspect us still, and find a time
To punish this Offence in other Faults:
Suppose then, all our Lives shall be struck full of Eyes;
For Treason is but trusted like the Fox,
Who ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up,
Will have a wild trick of his Ancestors;
Look how we can, or sad, or merrily,
Interpretation will misquote our Looks,
And we shall feed like Oxen at a Stall,
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.
My Nephew's Trespass may be well forgot,
It hath the excuse of Youth, and heat of Blood,
And an adopted Name of Privilege,
A hare-brain'd Hot-spur, govern'd by a Spleen:
All his Offences live upon my Head,
And on his Father's. We did train him on,
And his Corruption being ta'en from us,
We as the Spring of all, shall pay for all:
Therefore, good Cousin, let not Harry know,
In any case, the Offer of the King.

Ver.
Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so.
Here comes your Cousin. Enter Hot-spur and Dowglass.

Hot.
My Uncle is return'd:
Deliver up, my Lord of Westmorland.
Uncle, what News?

Wor.
The King will bid you Battel presently.

Dow.
Defie him by the Lord of Westmorland.

Hot.
Lord Dowglass; go you and tell him so.

Dow.
Marry and shall, and very willingly. [Exit Dowglass

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. Enter Dowglass.

Dow.
Arm, Gentlemen, to Arms, for I have thrown
A brave Defiance in King Henry's Teeth:
And Westmorland that was ingag'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,
By still dispraising Praise, valu'd with you:
And which became him like a Prince indeed,
He made a blushing Cital of himself,
And chide his trewant Youth so with 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.

Hot.
Cousin, I think thou art enamoured
On his Follies; never did I hear
Of any Prince so wild at Liberty.
But be he as he will, yet once e'er Night,
I will embrace him with a Soldier's Arm,
That he shall shrink under my Courtesie.
Arm, arm with speed. And Fellows, Soldiers, Friend
Better consider what you have to do,
Than I, that have not well the Gift of Tongue,
Can lift your Blood up with Persuasion. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
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 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 for bearing them is just. Enter another Messenger.

Mes.
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.
Now Esperance, Percy, and set on:
Sound all the lofty Instruments of War.
And by that Musick, let us all embrace:
For Heav'n to Earth, some of us never shall,
A second time do such a courtesie. They embrace, then Exeunt. The Trumpets sound, the King entreth with his Power, alarm unto the Battel. Then enter Dowglas and Sir Walter Blunt.

Blunt.
What is thy Name, that in Battel thus thou crossest me?
What Honour dost thou seek upon my Head?

Dow.
Know then, my Name is Dowglass,
And I do haunt thee in the Battel thus,
Because some tell me, that thou art a King.

Blunt.
They tell thee true.

Dow.
The Lord of Stafford dear to Day hath bought
Thy Likeness; for instead of thee, King Harry,
This Sword hath ended him, so shall it thee,
Unless thou yield thee as a 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 Hot-spur.

Hot.
O Dowglass, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
I never had triumphed o'er a Scot.

Dow.
All's done, all's won, here breathless lyes the King.

Hot.
Where?

Dow.
Here.

Hot.
This, Dowglass? No, I know this Face full well:
A gallant Knight he was, his Name was Blunt,
Semblably furnish'd like the King himself.

Dow.
Ah! 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.

Dow.
Now by my Sword, I will kill all his Coats,
I'll murther all his Wardrobe Piece by Piece,
Until I meet the 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 moulten 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-Muffians where they are pepper'd; there's not three of my hundred and fifty left alive, and they for the Towns end to beg during Life. But who comes here?

P. Henry.
What stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy Sword,
Many a noble Man lyes stark and stiff
Under the Hoofs of vaunting Enemies,
Whose Deaths are unreveng'd. Prithee lend me thy Sword.

Fal.
O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breath 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 prithee lend me thy Sword.

Fal.

Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'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.

P. Henry.

What, is it a time to jest and dally now?

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.