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Capitulate against us, and are up.›

But wherefore do I tell this news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'ft and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough, through vaffal fear,
Bafe inclination, and the start of spleen,
To fight againft me under Peroy's Pay; 02.t
To dog his heels, and curt'fe at his frowns N. bro.
To show how much thou art degenerate.
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P. Henry. Do not think for you shall not find it fo: And heav'n forgive them, that fo much have way'₫ Your Majesty's good thoughts away from mentorq 1. I will redeem all this on Percy's head. b'Ro 1979. And in the closing of fome glorious day, well. Be bold to tell you, that I am your fon.m mid driv When I will wear a garment all of blood, ha eldo And ftain my favours in a bloody mask, when Which, wafht away, fhall fcowre my fhame with it. And that thall be the day, when e'er it lights, 2 That this fame child of honour and renown, ague in This gallant Hot-fpur, this all-praised Knighted And your unthought of Harry, chance to meet? ** ́ For every honour fitting on his helm, 976 abad 10 Would they were multitudes, and one my head as7i/ My fhames redoubled! for the time will come, That I fhall make this northern Youth exchange His glorions deeds for my indignities. Percy is but my factor, good my lord, T'engrofs up glorious deeds on my behalf: And I will call him to fo ftrict account, That he shall render every glory up,

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Yea, even the flightest worship of his time," Or I will tear the reck'ning from his heart.

This, in the name of heav'n, I promise heré sibniwb The which, if perform, and do furvive, stool 2'yb..! I do beseech your Majefty, may falve

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The long-grown wounds of my intemperature.
If not, the end of life cancels all bonds,

And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the finallest parcel of this vow.

K. Henry.

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K. Henry. A hundred thoufand Rebels die in this! Thou shalt have Charge, and foveraign Truft herein. vm to cods Me.ob

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How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of fpeed.
Blunt. So is the bufinefs that I come to fpeak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath fent word,
That Douglas and the English rebels met

Th' eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:

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A mighty, and a fearful head they are,
If promifes be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a State

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K. Henry. The Earl of Westmorland fet forth to day,' With him my fon, lord John of Lancaster;

For this advertisement is five days old.

On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt fet forward:
On Thursday, we our felves will march: our meeting
Is at Bridgnorthsand, Harry, you fhall marchi
Through Glaerbines by which, fome twelve days
hence in beliang-lik at AR

Our general forces at Bridgnorth fhall meet.
Our hands are full of bufinefs: let's away
Advantage feeds them fat, while we delay.

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IA [Exeunt.

to the Boar's-head Tavern

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brol22 Eaft-cheap,

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Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bactions Do, I not bate? do' I not am not fallin away vilely, fince

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dwindle why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loofe gown: Tamswither'd like an old apple John. Well, I'll repent, and that fuddenly, while I am in fome likinglyhall be out of heart fhortly, and then I fhall have no ftrength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the infide of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse; the infide of a Dd2 church!

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church! company, villainous company hath been the fpoil of me.

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Bard. Sir John, you are fo fretful, you cannot live

long.

Fal. Why, there is it, come, fing me a bawdy fong, to make me merry: I was as ly given, as as a gentleman heed to be; virtuous enough; fwore little; as virtuously diced not above feven times a week, went to a bawdyhouse not above once in a quarter of an hour paid mony, that I borrow'd, three or four times; liv'd well, and in good compass; and now I live out of all order, out of all compafs..

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Bard. Why, you are fo fat, o fat, Sir John, that you' muft needs be out of all compafs, out of all reafonable comowled IIT pass, Sir John.

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Fal. Do thou amend thy face, a e, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our Admiral, thou beareft the lanthorn the ed m poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp to

Bard. Why, Sir John,

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my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be fworn; I make as good use of it, as many a a memento man doth of a death's head, or mori. I never fee thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, .and Dives that liv'd in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would fwear by thy face, my oath wear fhould be, by this fire, but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the fon of utter darkness. When thou rann'ft up Gadshill in the night to catch my horfe, if I did not think, thou had'ft been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wild-fire, or there's no purchafe in mony. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlafting bonfire light; thou haft faved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt od and tavern; but the fack, that thou haft drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the deareft chandler's in Europe. I have maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years, heav'n reward me for it!

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Bard. 'Sblood, I would, my face were in your belly.

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Fal. God-a-mercy! fo fhould I be sure to be heartburn'd. 160 207 jan of 5.5

)bwad & om grEnter Hoftefs.

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How now, dame Partlet the hen, have you enquir'd yet who pick'd my pocket?

VI

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Hoft. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think, I keep thieves in my house? I have search d,1I my husband, man by man, boy by boy, fervant by fervant: the tithe of a hair was never loft in my house before.

SIMO US IQ a cowird fo has

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Fal. Ye lie, hoftefs; Bardelph was fhav'd, and loft many a hair; and I'll be fworn, my pocket was pick'd;

go to, you are a woman, go.

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I? I was never call'd fo in mine own houfe before. the

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough, irud Hoft. No, Sir John: you do not know me, Sir John; I know you, Sir John; you owe Sir John, me money, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. bought you a dozen back. Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them ato bakers wives, and they have made boulters of

pish nogu lane Thirts to your ven

way

them.

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Hoft. Now as I am a true woman, Holland of eight fhillings an ell: you owe mony here befides, Sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, And four and twenty pounds of gr twenty poy-drinkings, and money Fal. He had his part of it, let him pay f Hoft. He? alas! he is she is poor, poor, he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face, what call you rich? let him coin his nole, let him coin his cheeks: I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a yonker w anellsw of me hall pics of me? fhall I not take mine cafe in mine inn, but I fhall have hey

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fhall have my pocket pick'd? I have loft a feal-ring of my grand-father's worth forty mark.

Hoft. O Jefu! I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that the ring was copper.

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Fal. How? the Prince is a Jack, a fneak-cup; and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would fay fo.

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Enter Prince Henry marching, and Peto, playing on his Truncheon like a Fife: Falltaff meets them.

Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door? must we all march? od oved of 919dw 101 Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion, No Hoft. My lord, I pray you, hear me, wond maj (3) P. Henry. What fay't thou, Miftrefs Quickly how does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honeft Vinkoy doob od 2 full Hoft. Good, my lord, hear me. sinal b wo woy eri Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and lift to me. HI P. Henry. What fay'ft thou, Jack?boluoda A JI. Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket pickt: this houfe is turn'd bawdy-house, they pick pockets.

man.

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P. Henry. What didft thou lofe, Jack? el biɑ à«A Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pounds a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.

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P. Henry. A trifle, fome eight-penny matterwyl na Hoft. So I told him, my lord, and I faid, I heard your Grace fay fo; and, my lord, he speaks molt vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd man as he is, and faid he would cudgel you. 500 yuw bra Col1: P. Henry. What! he did not stand guix IT 167 Hoft. There's neither faith, truth, nor woman-hood in me elfe.

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a few'd prune, no more truth in thee than in a drawn Fox and for woman-hood, Maid-Marian may be the depu ty's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. Hoft. Say, what thing? what thing?

Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Hoft. I am nothing to thank God on, I would thou fhould't know it: I am an honeft man's wife; and

fetting

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