that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me; and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true to one another! [They whistle.] Whew!-A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues ; give me my horse, and be hanged.

P. Hen. Peace, lie down ; lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.

Fal. Have you any lerers to lift me up again, being down? I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer, What a plague mean ye, to colto me thus?

P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.

Fal. I pr’ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my horse : ġood king's son.

P. Hen. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler!

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta’en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, let a cup of sack be my poison: When a jest is so forward, and afoot too, I hate it.

Gads. Stand.
Fal. So I do, against my will.
Poins. 0, 'tis our setter: I know his voice.


Bard. What news?

Gads. Case ye, case ye: on with your visors : there's

money of the king's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the king's exchequer.

[blocks in formation]

on us.

Fal. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern.

Gads. There's enough to make us all.
Fal. To be hanged.

P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins, and I will walk lower : if they 'scape from your encounter, then they light

Peto. How many be there of them ?
Gads. Some eight, or ten.
Fal. Will they not rob us

P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch?

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather ; but yet no coward, Hal.

P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof.

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge ; when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast.

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.

P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises ?
Poins. Here, hard by ; stand close.

[Exeunt P. HENRY and Poins. Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I; every man to his business.

Enter Travellers.

1 Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy shall lead our horses down the hill : we'll walk afoot a while, and ease our legs.

Thieves. Stand.
Trav. Heaven bless us !

Fal. Strike; down with them ; cut the villains' throats : Ah! caterpillars ! bacon-fed knaves ! they hate us youth: down with them ; fleece them.

1 Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours, for ever.

Fal. Hang ye, knaves ; Are ye undone ? No, ye

fat chuffs?; I would, your store were here ! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves? young men must live: You are grand-jurors are ye? We'll jure ye, i'faith. [Exeunt FalstAFF, &c. driving the Travellers out.

Re-enter Prince HENRY and Poins.

P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men: Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.

Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming.

Re-enter Thieves.

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring : there's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild duck. P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out upon

them. Poins. Villains.

[ As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins

set upon them. FALSTAFF, after a blow or two, and the rest, run away, leaving

their booty behind them.] P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to

horse : The thieves are scatter'd, and possess’d with fear So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along : Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him.

Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt.

7 Clowns.


Warkworth. A Room in the Castle.

some more.

Enter HOTSPUR, reading a Letter.

But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house. - He could be contented, — Why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house - he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see

The purpose you undertake, is dangerous ;

Why, that's certain ; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink : but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. The purpose you undertake, is dangerous ; the

friends you have named, uncertain ; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoise of so great an opposition. Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this? Our plot is a good plot as ever was laid ; our friends true and constant : a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation : an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this? Why, my lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. By this hand, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month ? and are they not, some of them, set forward already ? What a pagan rascal is this? an infidel? Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold

heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings: O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action! Hang him ! let him tell the king : We are prepared: I will set forward to-night.

Enter Lady Percy. How now, Kate? I must leave you within these

two hours. Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus

alone? For what offence have I, this fortnight, been A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; And start so often when thou sit'st alone ? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy? In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars : Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; Cry, Courage! - to the field! And thou hast talk'd Of sallies, and retires ; of trenches, tents, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets; Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin; Of prisoners' ransome, and of soldiers slain, And all the 'currents of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream: And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are


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