P.Henry. Your money.

Poins. Villains!

[As they are faring, the Prince and Poins fet upon them. They all run away, and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty be-' hind them.]

P. Henry, Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse :

The thieves are scatter'd, and poffefs'd with fear
So ftrongly, that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.
Away, good Ned. Now Falstaff sweats to death,
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Were't not for laughing I should pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd!

SCENE V.

Lord Percy's Houfe.

[Exeunt.

Enter Hotspur folus, 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 houfe. He could be contented to be there; why is he not then? in respect of the love he bears our house he fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than, he loves our houfe, Let me see some more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous. Why, that's certain; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, to drink: but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck the flower, fafety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time itself unforted, and your whole plot too light for the counterpoize of fo great an oppofition. Say you fo, fay you fo? I fay unto you again, you are a fhallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lackbrain is this? By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and conftant; a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a froftyfpirited rogue is this? Why, my Lord of York com

mends the plot, and the general courfe of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rafcal, 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 befides the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are there not fome of them fee forward already? What a Pagan rafcal is this? an infidel. Ha! you fhall fee now, in very fincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myfelf, and go to buffets, for moving fuch a difh of skimm'd milk with so honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the king. We are prepared, Į will fet forward to-night.

How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.

Lady. O my good Lord, why are vou thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed?

Tell me, fweet Lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy ftomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why doft thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And ftart fo often when thou fitt't alone?
Why haft thou loft the fresh blood in thy cheeks,
And giv'n my treasures and my rights of thee,
To thick-ey'd mufing, and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint flumbers I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding fteed;
Cry, courage! to the field! and thou haft talk'd
of fallies and retires; of trenches, tents,
Of palifadoes, frontiers, parapets;
Of bafilifks, of cannon, culverin,

Of pris'ners' ransom, and of foldiers flain,
And all the current of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been fo at war,

And thus hath fo beftir'd thee in thy fleep,
That beads of fweat have ftood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream;

And in thy face ftrange motions have appear'd,
Such as we fee when men reftrain their breath
On fome great sudden haste. O, what portents are
Some heavy business hath my Lord in hand; [these?
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 agone.

Hot. Hath Butler brought these horses from the Sheriff?

Serv. One horse, my Lord, he brought ev'n now. Hot. What horfe? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? Serv. It is, my Lord.

Hot. That roan fhail be my throne.
Well, I will back him ftrait.

O efperance!
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
Lady. But hear you, my Lord.
Hot. What fay'ft thou, my Lady?
Lady. What is it carries you away?
Hot. Why, my horfe, my love, my horse..
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!

A weazle hath not fuch a deal of spleen
As you are toft with.

In faith I'll know your business, that I will.
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 fhall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question I fhall ask.

I'll break thy little finger, Harry,

An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.

Hot. Away, away, you trifler; - love! I love thee

I care not for thee, Kate; this is no world [not, To play with mammets †, and to tilt with lips."

Perhaps, And thought hath so disturb'd. Johnson.
Puppets. Jebafon.

We must have bloody nofes, and crack'd crowns, And pafs them current too-gods me! my horse. What fay'ft thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me?

Lady. Do ye 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 fpeak in jeft, or no?
Hot. Come, wilt thou fee me ride?

And when I am o' horfeback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate,
I must not have you henceforth question me,
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
Whither I muft, I muft; and, to conclude,
This evening muft I leave thee, 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 fecrefy,
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. Not an inch farther. 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 muft of force.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

VII.

Changes to the Boar's-Head Tavern in Eaft

cheap.

Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

P. Henry. Ned, pr'ythee come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where haft been, Hal?

P. Henry. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or fourfcore hogfheads. I have founded the very base ftring of humility. Sirrah, I am fworn brother to a leafh of drawers, and can call them all by the Christian names, as Tom, Dick, and

Francis. They take it already upon their conscience, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of courtefy; telling 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 Eaft-cheap. They call drinking deep, dying fcarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry, hem! and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am fo 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, clap'd even now into my hand by an under-fkinker †, one that never fpake other English in his life, than eight fillings and fix pence, and you are welcome, Sir. with this fhrill addition, anon, anon, Sir; 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 ftand in fome by-room while I queftion 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. Step aside, and I'll fhew thee a precedent.

Poins. Francis

P. Henry. Thou art perfect.

Poins. Francis

[Poins retires:

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.-Look down into the pomegranet, Ralph.

P. Henry. Come hither, Francis,

Fran. My Lord.

P. Henry. How long haft thou to serve, Francis?

A wencher. Johnson.

† A tapster, an under-drawer. Johnson.