Of palifadoes, frontiers, parapets;
Of bafilisks, of cannon, culverin;

Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers flain,
And all the 'currents of a heady fight.
Thy fpirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath fo beftir'd thee in thy fleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late-difturbed ftream:
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we fee when men restrain their breath
On some great fudden hafte. O, what portents are these?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,

And I must know it, elfe he loves me not.

Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone?

Enter Servant.

Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
Serv. One horfe, my lord, he brought even now.

Hot. What horfe? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
Serv. It is, my lord.

Hot.
Well, I will back him ftraight: O efperance !-
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

That roan shall be my throne.

Lady. But hear you, my lord.

Hot.

Lady. What is it carries you away?

Hot.

My love, my horse.

Lady.

[Exit Servant.

What fay'ft, my lady?

ape!

A weasel hath not fuch a deal of fpleen,

As you are tofs'd with. In faith,

I'll know your bufinefs, Harry, that I will.

3

I fear,

I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title; and hath fent for you,
To line his enterprize: But if you go▬▬
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I ask.

In faith, 11 break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Hot. Away,

Away, you trifler!-Love?—I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world,
To play with mannets, and to tilt with lips:
We must have bloody nofes, and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too.-Gods me, my horfe!-
What fay'ft thou, Kate? what would't thou have with

me?

Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?
Well, do not then; for fince you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no.

Hot. Come, wilt thou fee me ride?
And when I am o'horse-back, I will fwear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout :
Whither I must, I muft; and, to conclude,
This evening muft I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wife; but yet no further wife,
Than Harry Percy's wife: conftant you are;
But yet a woman: and for fecrecy,

No lady clofer: for I well believe,

Thou wilt not utter what thou doft not know;
And fo far will I trust thee, gentle Kate?

Lady. How! fo far?

Hot.

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:
Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
To-day will I fet forth, to-morrow you.―
Will this content you, Kate?

Lady.

It must, of force. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Eaftcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern.

Enter Prince HENRY ånd POINS.

P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poins. Where haft been, Hal?

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have founded the very base ftring of humility. Sirrah, I am fworn brother to a leash of drawers and can call them all by their Chriftian names, as-Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their falvation, that though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,-by the Lord, fo they call me; and when I am king of England, I fhall command all the good lads in Eastcheap. hey call-drinking deep, dying scarlet: and when you breathe in your watering, they cry-hem! and bid you play it off.-To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou haft loft much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action. But, fweet Ned,-to fweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of fugar, clapp'd even now into my hand by an under-fkinker; one D

that

that never spake other English in his life, than-Eight fhillings and fixpence, and-You are welcome; with this fhrill addition,—Anon, anon, fir! Score a pint of baftard in the Half-moon, or fo. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the fugar; and do thou never leave calling-Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but-anon. afide, and I'll show thee a precedent.

Poins. Francis !

P. Hen. Thou art perfect.

Poins. Francis!

Step

[Exit POINS.

Enter Francis.

Fran. Anon, anon, fir.-Look down into the Pome

granate, Ralph.

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord.

P. Hen. How long haft thou to serve, Francis?
Fran. Forfooth, five year, and as much as to-
Poins. [Within.] Francis.

Fran. Anon, anon, fir.

P. Hen. Five years! by`rlady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, dareft thou be fo valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Fran. O lord. fir! I'll be fworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart—

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, fir.

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis?

Fran. Let me fee,-About Michaelmas next I fhall bePoins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran.

Fran. Anon, fir.-Pray you, stay a little, my lord. P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis: For the fugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not?

Fran. O lord, fir! I would, it had been two.

P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,

Fran. My lord?

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, chrystalbutton, nott-pated, agat-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, fmooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,—

Fran. O lord, fir, who do you mean?

P. Hen. Why then, your brown baftard is your only drink for, look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will fully in Barbary, fir, it cannot come to fo much. Fran. What, fir?

:

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

P. Hen. Away, you rogue; Doft thou not hear them call?

[Here they both call him; the drawer ftands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What! ftand'st thou ftill, and hear'ft fuch a calling? look to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old fir John, with half a dozen more, are at the door; Shall I let them in?

P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins!