Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff.

K. H.
How bloodily the sun begins to peer ^note
Above yon' busky ^note hill! the day looks pale
At his distemp'rature.

Pri.
The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And, by his hollow ^note whistling in the leaves,
Fore-tells a tempest, and a blust'ring day.

K. H.
Then with the losers let it sympathize;
For nothing can seem foul to ^note those that win.— Trumpet. Enter Worcester, and Vernon.
How now, my lord of Worcester? '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 ^note 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 ^note 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 ^note protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.

K. H.
You have not sought it, sir: How comes it then?

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

Pri.
Peace, chewet, 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 outdare ^note
The dangers ^note of the time: You swore to us,—
And you did swear ^note that oath at Doncaster,—
That you did nothing purpose ^note 'gainst the state;
Nor claim ^note no further than your new-fall'n right,
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster:
To this we swore ^note 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;
What with the injuries of a ^note wanton time;
The seeming sufferances that you had born;
And the contrarious winds, that held the king
So long in his unlucky ^note Irish wars,
That all in England did repute him dead,—
As, from ^note14Q0654 this swarm of fair advantages,
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
To gripe the general sway into your hand:
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster;
And, being fed by us, you us'd us so
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,

Useth the sparrow: did oppress our nest;
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk,
That even our love durst not come near your sight,
For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing
We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present head:
Whereby you stand ^note14Q0655 opposed by such means
As you yourself have forg'd against yourself;
By unkind usage, dang'rous countenance,
And violation of all faith and troth
Sworn ^note to us in your ^note younger enterprize.

K. H.
These things, indeed, you have articulated ^note,
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches;
To face the garment of rebellion
With some fine colour, that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents,
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news
Of hurly-burly innovation:
And never yet did insurrection want
Such water-colours, to impaint his cause;
Nor moody ^note beggars, starving for a time
Of pell-mell havock and confusion.

Pri.
In both our armies ^note, there is many a soul
Shall pay full dearly for this bold encounter,
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Harry ^note Percy: By my hopes,—
This present enterprize set off his ^note head,—
I do not think, a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant, or more valiant ^note-young,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
To grace this latter age with noble deeds.

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 ^note single fight.

K. H.
And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,
Albeit, considerations infinite
Do make against it:—No, good Worcester, no,
We love our people well; even those we love,
That are mis-led 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 then bring me word
What he will do:—But if he will not yield ^note,
Rebuke and dread correction wait ^note on us,
And they shall do their office. So, be gone;
We will not now be troubl'd with reply:
We offer fair, take it advisedly. [Exeunt Worcester, and Vernon.

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

K. H.
Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;
For, on their answer, will we set on them:
And God befriend us, as our cause is just! [Exeunt King, Blunt, and P. John.

Fal.

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

Pri.

Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewel.

Fal.

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

Pri.

Why, thou ow'st God a death.

Fal.

'Tis not due yet; I would be loth to pay him before his day: What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter; Honour pricks me on. Yea ^note, 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 ^note. A trim reck'ning!—Who hath it? He that dy'd o'wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible ^note then? Yea, to the dead. But will it ^note not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it:—therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a meer scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.