This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee,
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.

Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death. [They fight, and BLUNT is slain.

Enter HOTSPUR.

Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, I never had triúmphèd o'er a Scot.

Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathless lies the King.
Hot. Where?
Doug. Here.

Hot. This, Douglas ? no; I know this face full well :
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt;
Semblably furnish'd like the King himself.

Doug. A fool go with thy soul, where're it goes !
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear :
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king ?

Hot. The King hath many masking in his coats.

Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;
I'll murder all his wardrobe piece by piece,
Until I meet the King.
Hot.

Up, and away!
Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.

[Exeunt.

Alarums. Enter FALSTAFF.

Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here; here's no scoring but upon the pate. ! — Soft !

1 Falstaff has tavern thoughts and customs running in his mind; the mode of an inn-keeper's accounts being to score the items either by chalkmarks made upon the wall, or by notches cut in a stick. — There is a pun implied in shot-free. Sir John was shot-free at Eastcheap, though not scotfree : here he is scot-free, but not exactly shot-free. It seems likely, from this passage, that in scot the c was soft in the Poet's time, so as to give a pro

who are you? Sir Walter Blunt: there's honour for you ! here's no vanity !? I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too : God keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my ragamuffins where they are peppered : there's but three of my hundred and fifty lest alive; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here?

Enter Prince HENRY.

Prince. What, stand’st thou idle here ? lend me thy sword : Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths as yet are unrevenged : I pr’ythee, Lend me thy sword.

Fal. O Hal, I pr’ythee, give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk Gregory 4 never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure.

Prince. He is, indeed ; and living to kill thee. I pr’ythee, lend me thy sword.

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.

Prince. Give it me : what, is it in the case ?

Fal. Ay, Hal. 'Tis hot, 'tis hot : there's that will sack a city.

[The PRINCE draws out a bottle of sack.

nunciation the same as in shot. To pay one's shot is to pay one's score, that is, bill or reckoning, at a tavern; and to be shot-free is to have one's entertainment without charge.

2 The negative, “no vanity,” is here used ironically, to indicate the excess of a thing; a frequent usage in colloquial speech.

3 The town's end probably means the poor-house; or perhaps a hospital for war-maimed soldiers.

4 That is, Pope Gregory the Seventh, called Hildebrand. Fox, in his Martyrology, had made Gregory so odious that the Protestants would be well pleased to hear him thus characterized, as uniting the attributes of their two great enemies, the Turk and the Pope, in one.

Prince. What, is't a time to jest and dally now?

[Throws it at him, and exit. Fal. Well, 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 6 of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath : give me life; which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there's an end.

[Exit.

SCENE IV. - Another Part of the Field.
Alarums. Excursions. Enter King HENRY, Prince HENRY,

LANCASTER, and WESTMORELAND.
King. I pr’ythee,
Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much.
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.

Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.

Prince. I do beseech your Majesty, make up,
Lest your retirement do amazel your friends.

King. I will do so.
My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.

West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent.

Prince. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help:
And God forbid, a shallow scratch should drive
The Prince of Wales from such a field as this,
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on,
And rebels' arms triúmph in massacres !2

Lan. We breathe too long : -come, cousin Westmoreland, Our duty this way lies; for God's sake, come.

[Exeunt LANCASTER and WESTMORELAND.
Prince. By Heaven, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster;
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit :
Before, I loved thee as a brother, John;
But now I do respect thee as my soul.

King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point
With lustier maintenance than I did look for
Of such an ungrown warrior.
Prince.

O, this boy
Lends mettle to us all !

[Exit. Alarums. Enter DOUGLAS. Doug. Another king ! they grow like Hydra's heads : I am the Douglas, fatal to all those That wear those colours on them. -- What art thou, That counterfeit'st the person of a king?

King. The King himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart, So many

of his shadows thou hast met,
And not the very King. I have two boys
Seek Percy and thyself about the field :
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
I will assay thee; so, defend thyself.

Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit;
And yet, in faith, thou bear’st thee like a king :
But mine I'm sure thou art, whoe'er thou be,
And thus I win thee.3

[They fight; the King being in danger, re-enter P. HENRY.

Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like
Never to hold it up again! the spirits
Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arm :
It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee ;
Who never promiseth but he means to pay.

[They fight: Douglas flies.
Cheerly, my lord : how fares your Grace?
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent,
And so hath Clifton : I'll to Clifton straight.

King. Stay, and breathe awhile :
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ;4
And show'd thou makest some tender of my life,
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.

Prince. O God, they did me too much injury
That ever sad I hearken'd for

your

death! If it were so, I might have let alone Th’insulting hand of Douglas over you, Which would have been as speedy in your end As all the poisonous potions in the world, And saved the treacherous labour of your son. King. Make up to Clifton : I'll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey.

[Exit. Enter HOTSPUR.

Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
Prince. Thou speak’st as if I would deny my name.
IIot. My name is Harry Percy.