P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art

like

Never to hold it up again! The spirits
Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt are in my arms:
It is the prince of Wales that threatens thee;
Who never promiseth, but he means to pay.

[they fight; Douglas flies.

Cheerly, my lord! How fares your grace?-
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent,
And so hath Clifton: I'll to Clifton straight.

K. Hen. Stay, and breathe awhile:
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion; 1

And show'd, thou makest some tender of my life,
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

P. Hen. O heaven! they did me too much

injury,

That ever said, I hearken'd for your

If it were so, I might have let alone

death.

The insulting hand of Douglas over you;

Which would have been as speedy in your end,
As all the poisonous potions in the world,
And saved the treacherous labor of your son.

K. Hen. Make up to Clifton: I'll to sir Nicholas [Exit King Henry.

Gawsey.

Enter HOTSpur.

Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.

Reputation.

A

P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my

name.

Hot. My name is Harry Percy.

P. Hen.

Why, then I see

very valiant rebel of the name.

I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,
To share with me in glory any more.

Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;
Nor can one England brook a double reign
Of Harry Percy and the prince of Wales.

Hot. Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come
To end the one of us; and would to God,
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!
P. Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part from

thee;

And all the budding honors on thy crest

I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities.

Enter FALSTAFF.

[they fight.

Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal!-Nay, you shall find no boy's play here, I can tell you.

Enter DOUGLAS: he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hotspur is wounded, and falls.

Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth :

I better brook the loss of brittle life,

Than those proud titles thou hast won of me :

They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my flesh.

But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool;
And time, that takes survey of all the world,
Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy,

But that the earthy and cold hand of death
Lies on my tongue. No, Percy, thou art dust,
And food for-

[dies. P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy! Fare thee well, great heart!

Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk !
When that this body did contain a spirit,

A kingdom for it was too small a bound;
But now, two paces of the vilest earth

Is room enough. This earth, that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.

If thou wert sensible of courtesy,

I should not make so dear a show of zeal :
But let my favors 1 hide thy mangled face,
And, even in thy behalf, I 'll thank myself
For doing these fair rites of tenderness.

Adieu!, and take thy praise with thee to heaven .
Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave,

But not remember'd in thy epitaph.

[he sees Falstaff on the ground.

What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh

Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!

1 Scarf, with which he covers Percy's face