Fal. Ay, Hal, 'tis hot. There's that will fack a city. [The Prince drau's out a bottle of fack. P. Henry. What, is it a time to jeft and dally now? Throws it at him, and Exit, Fal. If Percy be alive, I'll pierce him; if he do come in my way, so; if he do not, if I come in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not fuch grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: give me life, which if I can fave, fo; if not, honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. [Exit. SCENE GENE VIII Alarum, Excurfions. Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and the Earl of Weftmorland. K. Henry. Prythee, Harry, withdraw thyself, thou bleedeft too much: Lord John of Lancafter, go you with him. Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. My lord of Westmorland, lead him to his Tent. And heav'n forbid, a fhallow fcratch fhould drive The Prince of Wales from fuch a field as this, Where ftain'd Nobility lies trodden on, And Rebels arms triumph in maffacres ! Lan. We breath too long; come, cousin Weftmorland Our duty this way lies; for heav'n's fake, come. P. Henry. By heav'n, thou haft deceiv'd me, Lan cafter, I did not think thee lord of fuch a spirit: K. Henry: K. Henry. I faw him hold lord Percy at the point, With luftier maintenance than I did look for Of fuch an ungrown warrior. P. Henry. Oh, this boy Lends mettle to us all. Manet King Henry. Enter Dowglas. [Exeunt. Dowg. Another King? they grow, like Hydra's heads: I am the Dowglas, fatal to all thofe That wear thofe colours on them. What art thou, That counterfeit'ft the person of a King? K. Henry. The King himself, who, Dowglas, grieves at heart, So many of his fhadows thou haft met, And not the very King. I have two boys Dowg. I fear, thou art another counterfeit ; [They fight the King being in danger. P. Henry. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like Never to hold it up again: the Spirits [They fight, Dowglas flieth. And And fhew'd, thou mak'ft some tender of my life, P. Henry. O heav'n! they did me too much injury, Th' infulting hand of Dowglas over you; Hot. A SCENE IX. Enter Hot-spur. [Exit. F I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. my name. Hot. My name is Harry Percy. P. Henry. Then I fee very valiant Rebel of that name. I am the Prince of Wales: and think not, Percy, Two Stars keep not their motion in one sphere; Hot. Nor fhall it, Harry, for the hour is come Enter Falftaff. [Fight. Fal. Well faid, Hal; to it, Hal. Nay, you fhall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. Enter Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead. The Prince kills Percy. Hot. O, Harry, thou haft robb'd me of my youth: I better brook the lafs of brittle life, L Than those proud Titles thou haft won of me; But thought's the flave of life, and life time's fool; [Dies. P. Henry. Worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well! Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou fhrunk! When that this body did contain a spirit, A Kingdom for it was too fmall a bound: Is room enough! this earth, that bares thee dead, If thou wert fenfible of courtesy, I should not make so great a show of zeal. [Exit. SCENE Fal. IM MBOWELL'D !-if thou imbowel me today, I'll give you leave to powder me, and eat me to-morrow! 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me fcot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit; to die, is to be a counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life, indeed. The better part of valour is difcretion; in the which better part, I have faved my life. I am afraid of this gun-powder Percy, though he be dead. How if he fhould counterfeit too, and rife? I am afraid, he would prove the better counterfeit; therefore I'll make him fure; yea, and I'll fwear, I kill'd him. Why may not he rife as well as I? nothing confutes me but eyes, and no body fees me. Therefore, firrah, with a new wound in your thigh come you along with me. [Takes Hot-fpur on his back. Enter Prince Henry, and John of Lancaster. P. Henry. COME, brother John, full bravely haft Thy maiden fword. thou flesht Lan. But foft! whom have we here? Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead? And breathless on the ground: art thou alive, I |