Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes,
This infant warrior in his enterprizes
Discomfited great Douglas: ta'en him once,
Enlarged him, and inake a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,

And shake the peace and safety of our throne. And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,

The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, and are up.

Capitulate against us,

?

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes.
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,—
To fight against me under Percy's pay,
To dog his heels and court'sy at his frowns,
To show how much degenerate thou art.

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find

it so:

And God forgive them, that so much have sway'd
Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And, in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your soni
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with

it.

And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, That this same child of honour and renown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet; For every honour sitting on his helm,

Would they were multitudes; and on my head

My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every głory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart,
This, in the name of God, I promise here :
The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
I do beseech your Majesty, may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance :
If not, the end of life cancels all bands;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this:

Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein.

Enter BLUNT.

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of

speed.

Blunt. So hath the business that I come to

speak of.

Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,-
That Douglas; and the English rebels, met,
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,

As ever offer'd foul play in a state.

K. Hen. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to day;

With him my son, lord Johu of Lancaster;

For this advertisement is five days old:
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set
Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will march:
Our meeting is Bridgnorth and, Harry, you
Shall march through Glostershire; by which ac-

count,

Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III,

Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern. Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH.

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what' the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Fal. Why, there is it:-come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore little; diced, not above seyen times

:

week went to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter of an hour; paid money that I borrow'd, three or four times; lived well, and in good compass and now I live out of all order, out of all compass,

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop, -but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no

harm.

Fal, No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or ą memento mori: I never see thy face, but I think on hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, buruing. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hast been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfirelight! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it!

Bard. 'Slood, I would my face were in your belly!

Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.

Enter Hostess.

How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you inquired yet, who pick'd my pocket?

Host. Why, Sir John! what do you think, Sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have search'd, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servaut : the tithe of a hair was never lost in my

house before.

Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was pick'd: Go to, you are a woman, go. Host. Who I? I defy thee: I was never call'd so in mine own house before.

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough,

Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me”, Sir John: I know you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have. anade bolters of them.

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here. besides, Sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound.

Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay.
Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.