Westmorland.
K. Henry.
I prithee, Harry, withdraw thy self, thou bleedest
too much: Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.
Lan.
Not I, my Lord, unless I did bleed too.
P. Henry.
I beseech your Majesty make up,
Least your Retirement do amaze your Friends.
K. Henry.
I will do so:
My Lord of Westmorland, lead him to his Tent.
West.
Come my Lord, I'll lead you to your Tent.
P. Henry.
Lead me, my Lord! I do not need your Help,
And Heav'n forbid a shallow Scratch should drive
The Prince of Wales from such a Field as this,
Where stain'd Nobility lyes trodden on,
And Rebels Arms triumph in Massacres.
Lan.
We breath too long; come Cousin Westmorland,
Our Duty this Way lyes, for Heav'ns sake come.
P. Henry.
By Heav'n thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster,
I did not think thee Lord of such a Spirit:
-- 1199 --
Before, I lov'd thee as a Brother, John;
But now, I do respect thee as my Soul.
K. Henry.
I saw him hold Lord Percy at the Point,
With lustier Maintenance than I did look for
Of such an ungrown Warrior.
P. Henry.
O this Boy, lends Mettle to us all.
[Exit.
Enter Dowglass.
Dow.
Another King? They grow like Hydra's Heads:
I am the Dowglass fatal to all those
That wear those Colours on them. What art thou
That counterfeit'st the Person of a King?
K. Henry.
The King himself; who, Dowglass, grieves at Heart
So many of his Shadows thou hast met,
And not the very King. I have two Boys
Seek Percy and thy self about the Field;
But seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily
I will assay thee: So defend thy self.
Dow.
I fear thou art another Counterfeit;
And yet in faith thou bear'st thee like a King:
But mine I am sure thou art, who e'er thou be,
And thus I win thee.
[They fight: The King being in Danger,
Enter Prince Henry.
P. Henry.
Hold up thy Head, vile Scot, or thou art like
Never to hold it up again: The Spirits
Of valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Arms;
It is the Prince of Wales that threats thee,
Who never promiseth, but means to pay.
[They fight, Dowglass flyeth.
Chearly, my Lord; how fares your Grace?
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for Succour sent,
And so hath Clifton: I'll to Clifton streight.
K. Henry.
Stay, and breath a while.
Thou hast redeem'd my lost Opinion,
And shew'd thou mak'st some tender of my Life
In this fair Rescue thou hast brought to me.
P. Henry.
O Heav'n, they did me too much Injury,
That ever said I hearkned to your Death.
If it were so, I might have let alone
The insulting Hand of Dowglass over you,
Which would have been as speedy in your end,
-- 1200 --
As all the poisonous Potions in the World,
And sav'd the treacherous Labour of your Son.
K. Prince.
Make up to Clifton, I'll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.
[Exit.
Enter Hot-spur.
Hot.
If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
P. Henry.
Thou speakest as if I would deny my Name.
Hot.
My Name is Harry Percy.
P. Henry.
Why 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, e'er 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.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
Well said, Hal, to it Hal. Nay, you shall find no
Boys Play here, I can tell you.
Enter Dowglass, he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead. The Prince kills Percy.
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 prophesie,
But that the Earth, and the cold Hand of Death,
Lyes on my Tongue: No, Percy thou art Dust
And Food for—
[Dies.
P. Henry.
For Worms, brave Percy. Farewel great Heart:
I'll-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
-- 1201 --
Is room enough. This Earth that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive so stout a Gentleman.
If thou wert sensible of Courtesie,
I should not make so great a show of Zeal.
But let my Favours hide thy mangled Face,
And even in thy behalf, I'll thank my self
For doing these fair Rites of Tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to Heav'n,
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the Grave,
But not remembred in thy Epitaph.
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 dearer in this bloody Fray:
Imbowell'd will I see thee by and by,
'Till then, in Blood by noble Percy lye.
[Exit.
Falstaff riseth up.
Fal.
Imbowell'd! If thou imbowel me to Day, I'll give
you leave to Powder me, and eat me too 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 have kill'd him. Why may not he rise as well
as I? Nothing confutes me but Eyes, and no Body sees
me. Therefore, Sirrah, with a new Wound in your Thigh
come you along with me.
[Takes Hot-spur on his Back.
Enter Prince Henry and John of Lancaster.
P. Henry.
Come Brother John, full bravely hast thou
flesht thy Maiden Sword.
-- 1202 --
Lan.
But soft, who have we here?
Did you not tell me this fat Man was dead?
P. Henry.
I did, I saw him dead,
Breathless, and bleeding on the Ground: Art thou alive,
Or is it Fantasie that plays upon our Eye-sight?
I prethee 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,
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 my self, and saw thee dead.
Fal.
Did'st thou? Lord, Lord, how the World is given
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 believed, 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.
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 Lie 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.
Fal.
I'll follow as they say, for Reward. He that rewards
me, Heav'n reward him. If I do grow great again,
I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave Sack, and live
cleanly, as a noble Man should do.
[Exit.
-- 1203 --
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
