Fal. Your lie, you rogue, 'tis going to the King's

tavernay

Gads There's enough to make us all.

Fal. To be hang'd..

P. Henry. You four fhall front them in the narrow lane: Ned Poins and I will walk lower; if they fcape from your encounter, then they light on us.

Pero. But how many be of them?

Gads. Some eight or ten

Fal. Zounds, will they 'not rob us?

P. Henry. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? Fal. Indeed I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal.

P. Henry. Well, we'll leave that to the proof.

Poins. Sirrah, Jack, thy, horfe ftands behind the hedge, when thou need'ft him, there fhalt thou find him; farewel, and stand fast.

Fal. Now cannot I ftrike him if I fhould be hang'd.

P. Henry Ned, where are our difguifes?

Poins. Here hard by: ftand clofe.

Fal. Now my mafters, happy man be his dole fay I; every man to his business.

SCENE IV.

Enter Travellers.

Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy fhall lead our horfes down the hill: we'll walk a foot a while, and cafe our legs.

Thieves. Stand.

Trav. Jefu bless us !

Fal. Strike; down with them, cut the villains throats; ah whorfon caterpillars; bacon-fed knaves, they hate us youth; down with them, fleece them.

Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours for

ever.

Fal. Hang re gorbellied knaves, are you undone > no, ye fat chuffs, I would your ftore were here. On

bacons,

bacons, on! what ye knaves? young men must live; you are grand jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye i' faith. [Here they rob and bind them: Exeunt,

Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

P. Henry. The thieves have bound the true-men :: now could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter: for a month, and a good jeft for ever.

Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming.

Enter Thieves again.

Fal. Come my masters, let us fhare, and then to horfe before day; an the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity ftirring. There's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild Duck.

P. Henry. Your mony.

Boins. Villains.

[As they are fharing, the Prince and Poins fer upon them. They all run away, and Falstaff after a blow or two runs away too, leaving the booty behind them.

P. Henry. Got with much eafe. Now merrily
horfe:

The thieves are fcatter'd, and poffeft with fear
Softrongly, that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.

Away, good Ned. Now Falstaff sweats to death
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Were't not for laughing, I fhould pity him!
Poins How the rogue roar'd

[Exeunt

B

SCENE V.

Lord Percy's House.

Enter Hot-fpur folus, reading a letter.

UT for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear. your house. He could be contented to be there; why is he not then? in respect of the love he bears our house: he fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our houfe. Let me fee fome more. The purpofe 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 purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time it felf unforted, and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoize 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 course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rafcal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and my felf, Lord Edmond Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not befides, the Dowglas? have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are there 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. O, I could divide my felf, and go to buffets, for moving fuch a dish of skimm'd

milk

milk with fo honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared. I will fet forward to-night.

SCENE VI.

Enter Lady Percy.

How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.

Lady. 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, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee Thy ftomach, pleasure, and thy golden fleep? Why doft thou bend thy eyes upon the earth? And start fo often when thou fitt'st alone? Why haft thou loft the fresh blood in thy cheeks? And given my treasures and my rights of thee, To thick-ey'd mufing, and curft melancholy! In thy faint flumbers I by thee have watcht, 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 current of a heady fight. Thy fpirit within thee hath been fo at war, And thus hath fo beftir'd thee in thy fleep, That beads of fweat have ftood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late difturbed stream: And in thy face ftrange motions have appear'd, Such as we fee when men reftrain their breath,

On fome great fudden hafte. O' what portents are thefes

Some heavy bufinefs hath my lord in hand,

And I must know it; elfe he loves me not.
Hot. What ho, is Gilliams with the packet gone?

Enter

Enter Servant.

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

Hot. Hath Butler brought, thofe horfes from the She riff?

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought ev'n now.
Hot. What horfe a roan, a crop ear, is it not?
Serv. It
It is, my lord,

Hot. That roan fhall be my throne.

Well, I will back him ftrait. O Esperance!
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

Lady. But hear, you, my lord.

Hot. What fay'ft thou, my lady?
Lady. What is it carries you away?

Hot. Why, my horfe, my love, my horse.

Lady. Out you mad-headed ape! A weazel hath not

Such a deal of fpleen as you are toft with.

In faith I'll know your bufinefs, that I will.
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
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. Come, come, you Paraquito, answer me.
Directly to this question, I fhall ask.

I'll break thy little finger, Harry,

If thou wilt not tell me true.

Hot. Away, away, you trifler: love! I love thee

not,

I care not for thee, Kate; this is no world.

To play with t mammets, and to tilt with lips.
We must have bloody nofes, and crack'd crowns,

And pafs them currant too-gods me! my horfe.

What fay'ft thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me?

Lady Do ye not love me? do you not indeed?
Well, do not then. For fince you love me not,
I will not love my felf. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if you speak in jeft or no?

† Mammets, i. e. girls

Hot.