Hot.
My cousin Vernon, welcome by my soul.

Ver.
Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.
The Earl of Westmorland, sev'n thousand strong,
Is marching hither, with Prince John of Lancaster.

Hot.
No harm; what more?

Ver.
And further, I have learn'd,
The King himself in person hath set forth,
Or hitherwards intended speedily,
With strong and mighty preparation.

Hot.
He shall be welcome too: where is his son?
The nimble-footed mad-cap Prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that dast the world aside
And bid it pass?

Ver.
All furnisht, all in arms,
All plum'd like Estridges, that with the wind
† ^noteBaited like Eagles, having lately bath'd:
Glittering in golden coats like images,
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the sun at Midsummer,
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,
His † ^notecuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury;
And vaulted with such ease into his seat,
As if an Angel dropt down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And † ^notewitch the world with noble horsemanship.

Hot.
No more, no more; worse than the Sun in March,
This praise doth nourish agues; let them come.
They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoaky war,
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them.
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,
And yet not ours. Come, let me take my horse,
Who is to bear me like a thunder-bolt,
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.
Harry to Harry shall, and horse to horse
Meet, and ne'er part, till One drop down a coarse.
Oh, that Glendower were come.

Ver.
There is more news:
I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
He cannot draw his pow'r this fourteen days.

Dow.
That's the worst tidings that I hear of, yet.

Wor.
Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.

Hot.
What may the King's whole battle reach unto?

Ver.
To thirty thousand.

Hot.
Forty let it be,
My father and Glendower being both away,
The pow'r of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us take a muster speedily:
Dooms-day is near; die all, die merrily.

Dow.
Talk not of dying, I am out of fear
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. [Exeunt.

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