SCENE III. Warkworth. A Room in the Cafle.

Enter HOTSPUR, 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 boufe. He could be contented,-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 purpofe you undertake, is dangerous; the friends you have named, uncertain; the time felf unforted; and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoife 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-fpirited rogue is this? Why, my lord of York commends the plot, and the general courfe of the action. 'Zounds, an I were now by this rafcal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myfelf? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, befides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are they 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,

proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving fuch a difh of fkimm'd milk with so honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the king: We are prepared: I will fet forward tonight.

Enter Lady PERCY.

How now, Kate? I must leave you within thefe two

hours.

Lady P. 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 sleep?
Why doft thou bend thine eyes upon the earth;
And start so often when thou fitt'ft alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;
And given my treafures, and my rights of thee,
To thick-ey'd mufing, and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint flumbers, I by thee have watch'd,
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, frontiers, parapets;

Of bafilisks, of cannon, culverin;

Of prifoners' ranfom, and of foldiers flain,"
And all the 'currents of a heady fight.
Thy fpirit within thee hath been fo at war,
And thus hath fo hestirr'd thee in thy fleep,
That beads of fweat have ftood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream :
And in thy face ftrange motions have appear'd,
Such as we fee when men restrain their breath

On fome great fudden hafte. O, what portents are Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, [these? And I must know it, elfe he loves me not.

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

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

Hot. Hath Butler brought thofe horses from the sheriff? Serv. One horfe, my lord, he brought even 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 ftraight: O efperance!

Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Serv. Lady P. But hear you, my

lord.

Hot. What fay'ft thou, my lady?

Lady P. What is it carries you away?
Hot. Why, my horse,

My love, my horse.

As

you are

Lady P. Out you mad-headed ape!
A weazel hath not fuch a deal of spleen,
tofs'd with. In faith,
I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear, my brother Mortimer doth ftir
About his title; and hath sent for

you,

To line his enterprize: But if you go-
Hot. So far afoot, I fhall be weary, love.
Lady P. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I ask.

In faith, 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

To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips:
We must have bloody nofes, and crack'd crowns,
And pafs them current too.-Gods me, my horse !-
What fay'st thou, Kate? what would't thou have
with me?

Lady P. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?
Well, do not then; for, fince you
love me not,

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 must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reafon whereabout:
Whither I muft, I muft; and, to conclude,
This evening muft I leave you, 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 clofer; for I well believe,

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

Lady P. How! fo far?

Hot. Not an inch further.

But hark

you,

Kate:

Whither I go, thither shall you go too;

To-day will I fet forth, to-morrow you.

Will this content you, Kate?

Lady P. It muft, of force.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The Boar's Head Tavern in Eaft-cheap.

Enter Prince HENRY, and POINS.

P. Henry. Ned, pry'thee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

D

Poins.

Poins. Where haft thou been, Hal?

P. Henry. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four fcore 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 falvation, that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtefy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falftaff; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, by the Lord, so 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 fcarlet: and when you breathe in your watering, they cry-hem! and bid you play it off.-To conclude, I am fo good a 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 fweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of fugar, clapp'd even now into my hand by an under-fkinker; one that never fpake other English in his life, than-Eight fillings and fixpence, and-You are welcome; with this fhrill addition,-Anon, anon, fir! Score a pint of baftard in the Half-moon, or so. But Ned, to drive away the time 'till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in fome by-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. Francis!

P. Henry. Thou art perfect.