Blunt, meeting.
Blunt.
What is thy name, that in battle thus
Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek
Upon my head?
Doug.
Know, then, my name is Douglas;
And I do haunt thee in the battle thus,
Because some tell me that thou art a king.
Blunt.
They tell thee true.
Doug.
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 my prisoner5 note.
Blunt.
I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot6 note
;
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death.
[They fight, and Blunt is slain.
Enter Hotspur.
Hot.
O Douglas! hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot7 note.
-- 326 --
Doug.
All's done, all's won: here breathless lies the king.
Hot.
Where?
Doug.
Here.
Hot.
This, Douglas? no; I know this face full well:
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt,
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself.
Doug.
A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes8 note!
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. 11Q0608
Doug.
Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;
I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece,
Until I meet the king.
Hot.
Up, and away!
Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.
[Exeunt.
Alarums. Enter Falstaff.
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 molten lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out
of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels.
—I have led my raggamuffins where they are peppered:
there's not three of my hundred and fifty left alive9 note,
and they are for the town's end, to beg during life.
But who comes here?
Enter Prince Henry.
P. Hen.
What! stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy sword:
-- 327 --
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
Whose deaths are yet unreveng'd1 note. I pr'ythee, lend me thy sword.
Fal.
O Hal! I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe
a while.—Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms2 note,
as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have
made him sure.
P. Hen.
He is, indeed; and living to kill thee.
I pr'ythee lend me thy sword.
Fal.
Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou
get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou
wilt.
P. Hen.
Give it me. What, is it in the case?
Fal.
Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot: there's that will
sack a city.
[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.
P. Hen.
What! is't a time to jest and dally now?
[Throws it at him, and exit.
Fal.
Well, 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 me3 note. I like not
such grinning honour as sir Walter hath: give me life;
which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked
for, and there's an end.
[Exit.
-- 328 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
