Why, then I see

A 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 honours 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.

shall

life of a man: but to counterfeit dying, when a
true and perfect image of life indeed. The better
man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the
part of valour is-discretion; in the which better
part, I have saved my life. Zounds, I am afraid
of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead:
How, if he should counterfeit too, and rise? I am
afraid he would prove the better counterfeit. There-
fore I'll make him sure: yea, and I'll swear I kill-
ed him. Why may not he rise, as well as I?
Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees
me. Therefore, sirrah, [Stabbing him.] with a new
wound in your thigh, come you along with me.
[Takes Hotspur on his back.

Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John.
P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast
thou flesh'd
Thy maiden sword.
P. John.

But soft! whom have we here?
Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead?
P. Hen. I did; I saw him dead, breathless and
bleeding

Upon the ground.

Art thou alive? or is it phantasy

Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal!-Nay, you: find no boy's play here, I can tell you. Enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who falls That plays upon our eye-sight? I pr'ythee, speak ; down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hot-We will not trust our eyes, without our cars:spur 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!

11-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk!
When that this body did contain a spirit,

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

room enough:-This earth, that bears thee dead,
Sears 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 favours' 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 ignominy 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!
I could have better spar'd a better man.
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,
If I were inuch in love with vanity.
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray:"
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by;
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie.

[Exit.

Thou art not what thou seem'st.

but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. Fal. No, that's certain; I am not a double man. There is Percy: [Throwing the body down.] if him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let earl or duke, I can assure you.

P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead.

Fal. Didst thou?-Lord, lord, how this world is given to lying!-I grant you, I was down, and out of breath; and so was he: but we rose both at an clock. If I may be believed, so; if not, let them, instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury that should reward valour, bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my sword.

P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I
heard.

P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother
John.-

Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back:
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.

[A retreat is sounded.
The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours.
To see what friends are living, who are dead.
Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field,

[Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John.
Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He
that rewards me, God reward him! If I do grow
great, I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack,
and live cleanly, as a nobleman should do.
[Exit, bearing off the body.
SCENE V.-Another part of the field. The
trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince
Henry, Prince John, Westmoreland, and others;
with Worcester, and Vernon, prisoners.

Fal. [Rising slowly.] Embowell'd! If thou embowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder2 me, and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid) K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no Ill-spirited Worcester!-did we not send grace, counterfeit: To die, is to be a counterfeit; for he Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the And would'st thou turn our offers contrary?

(1) Scarf with which he covers Percy's face.

(2) Salt.
SF

Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to; Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds,

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come
with you?

Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard,
A gentleman almost forspent with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse:
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold:
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.

North.

Ha!--Again.

Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill luck?

Bard.

My lord, I'll tell you

If my young lord your son has not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken point2
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.

Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd.
But Priani found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say,-Your son did thus, and
thus;

Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds;
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with-brother, son, and all, are dead.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet.
But, for my lord your son,--

North.

Why, he is dead.
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Mortoo.
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies;
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace,
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

I

North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
see a strange confession in thine eye:
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin,
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead;
Not he, which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office; and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd knolling a departed friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe
That, which I would to heaven I had not seen:
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance,' wearied and outbreath'd,
To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
what;-Being bruited' once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops:
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.

Travers,

Give then such instances of loss?

Bard.

Who, he?
He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.
Enter Morton.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.^-
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask,
To fright our party.
North.
How doth my son, and brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so wo-begone,

(1) Exhausted. (2) Lace tagged.
(3) Hilderling, base, cowardly.
(4) An attestation of its ravage.

And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs; and, in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is,-that the king hath won; and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland: this is the news in full.

North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,

And summ'd the account of chance, before you worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was