Enter Hot-fpur 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 refpect of the love he bears our Houfe! he fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our Houfe. Let me fee fome 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 this flower, fafety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time itfelf 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 lack-brain 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 frofty-spirited rogue is this? Why, my lord of York commends 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 Dowglas? 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 fet 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 myself, and go to buffets, for moving fuch a

difh of fkimm'd milk with fo honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared, I will fet forward to night.

SCENE VI.

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, fweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy ftomach, pleasure, and thy golden fleep?
Why doft thou bend thy eyes upon the earth?
And ftart fo often, when thou fitt'ft alone?
Why haft thou loft the fresh blood in thy cheeks?
And given my treasures and my rights of thee,
To thick-ey'd mufing, and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint flumbers I by thee have watcht,
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, fortins, parapets;

Of bafilifks, of cannon, culverin,

Of prisoner's ransom, and of foldiers flain,
And all the current 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-disturbed ftream:

And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we fee when men restrain their breath
On fome 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.

C 4

Hot.

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

Enter Servant.

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

Hot. Hath Butler brought thofe horfes 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 fhall be

my

Throne.

Well, I will back him ftrait. O Esperance!

But 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 horfe.

Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape! a weazel hath not Such a deal of fpleen as you are toft with.In faith, I'll know your business, that I will. I fear, my brother Mortimer doth ftir 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 afk.

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

not,

I care not for thee, Kate; this is no world

*

To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips.
We must have bloody nofes, and crack'd crowns,
And pafs them currant too-gods me! my horfe.
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,

*mammets,] i. e. Girls.

Mr. Pope.

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'horfe-back, I will fwear,
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate,
I muft not have you henceforth question me,
Whither I go; nor reason, where about.
Whither I must, I must; 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 closer. For I well believe,

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

Lady. How! fo far?

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate, Whither I go, thither fhall

you go too; To day will I set forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate?

Lady. It muft of force.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 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 hast been, Hal?

P. Henry. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or fourfcore hogfheads. I have founded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am fworn brother to a leafh of drawers, and can call them all by their Christian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their confcience, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of courtesy; telling me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but

C 5

a Co

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 scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry, hem; and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am fo good à 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 sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of fugar, clapt even now into my hand by an under-fkinker, one that never spake other English in his life, than Eight Shillings and Six 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 bye-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 afide, and I'll fhew thee a precedent. [Poins retires.

Poins. Francis,

P. Henry. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis.-

Fran.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Francis the drawer.

ANON, anon, Sir; look down into the

pomgranet, Ralph.

P. Henry. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord.

P. Henry. How long haft thou to serve, Francis?
Fran. Forfooth, five years, and as much as to-

Poins. Francis,-

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry.