ACT IV. SCENE I..

At SHREWSBURY.

Enter Hot-fpur, Worcester, and Dowglas.

W

HOT-SPUR

ELL faid, my noble Scot; if speaking truth

In this fine age, were not thought flattery,

Such attribution fhould the Dowglas have,

As not a foldier of this season's stamp

Should go fo gen'ral currant through the World.
By heav'n, I cannot flatter: I defie

The tongues of foothers. But a braver place
In my heart's love hath no man than your felf.
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
Dow. Thou art the King of honour:
No man fo
But I will beard him.

breathes potent

upon

the ground,

Enter a Meffenger.

Hot. Do, and 'tis well

there?

I can but thank you.

Meff. These come

What letters haft thou

from your

father.

Hot. Letters from him? why comes he not himself?
Meff. He cannot come, my lord, he's grievous fick.
Hot. Heav'ns! how has he the leifure to be fick

In fuch a juftling time Who leads his power;

Under

Under whofe government come they along?
Meff. His letters bear his mind, not I his mind.
Wor. I pr'ythee tell me, doth he keep his bed?
Meff. He did, my lord, four days ere I fet forth:
And at the time of my departure thence,

He was much fear'd by his physician.

Wor. I would the ftate of time had firft been whole, Ere he by fickness had been vifited;

His health was never better worth than now.

Hot. Sick now? droop now? this fickness doth in
fe&t

The very life-blood of our enterprize ;
"Tis catching hither, even to our camp.
He writes me here, that inward sickness.
And that his friends by deputation

Could not fo foon be drawn: nor thought he meet
To lay fo dangerous and dear a truft
On any foul remov'd, buron his own.
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
That with our fmall conjunction we fhould ong
To see how fortune is difpos'd to us :
For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,
Because the King is certainly poffeft

Of all our purposes. What fay you to it?
Wor. Your father's finefs is a maim to us.
Hot. A perillous gafh, a very limb lopt off:
And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want
Seems more than we fhall find it.
Were it good,
To fet the exact wealth of all our ftates
All at one caft? to fet fo rich a main
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour,
It were not good; for therein should we read
The very bottom, and the foul of hope,
The very lift, the very utmost bound

Of all our fortunes.

Dow. Faith, and fo we should;

Where now remains a fweet reverfion.

We now may boldly spend, upon the hope
Of what is to come in:

a mine.

L 2

A

1

A comfort of retirement lives in this.
Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto
If that the devil and mischance look big
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.

Wor. But yet I would your father had been here :
The quality and b hair of our attempt
Brooks no divifion: it will be thought
By fome, that know not why he is away,
That wisdom, loyalty, and meer diflike
Of our proceedings, kept the Earl from hence.
And think, how fuch an apprehenfion..
May turn the tide of fearful faction,

C

And breed a kind of question in our caufe:
For well you know, we of th' offending fide,
Muft keep aloof from strict arbitrement,
And ftop all fight-holes, every loop, from whence
The eye of reafon may pry in upon us :
This abfence of your father draw
That fhews the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt upon.

Hot. You ftrain too far.

curtain,

I rather of his abfence make this ufe:
It lends a luftre, and more great opinion,
A larger a glare to your great enterprise,
Than if the Earl were here: for men must think,
If we without his help can make a head,
To push against the Kingdom; with his help,
We shall o'erturn it topfie-turvy down.
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.

Dow. As heart can think; there is not fuch a word
Spoke of in Scotland, as this e term of fear.

SCENE II.

Enter Sir Richard Vernon.

Hot. My cousin Vernon, welcome by my foul. Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. The Earl of Westmorland, fev'n thousand strong,

Is

Is marching hither, with Prince John of Lancaster.

Hot. No harm; what more?

Ver. And further, I have learn'd,

The King himself in person hath set forth,

Or hitherwards intended speedily,

With strong and mighty preparation.

Hot. He fhall be welcome too: where is his fon?
The nimble-footed mad-cap Prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that daft the world afide
And bid it pafs?

Ver. All furnifht, all in arms,

All plum'd like Eftridges, that with the wind
† Baited like Eagles, having lately bath'd:
Glittering in golden coats like images,
As full of fpirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the fun at Midsummer,
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
1 faw young Harry, with his beaver on,
His + cuiffes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
Rife from the ground like feather'd Mercury;
And vaulted with fuch ease into his feat,
As if an Angel dropt down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,

And witch the world with noble horfemanship.

Hot. No more, no more; worfe than the Sun in March,

This praise doth nourish agues; let them come.

They come like facrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-ey'd maid of fmoaky war,
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them.
The mailed Mars fhall on his altar fit
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprifal is fo nigh,

And yet not ours. Come, let me take my horse,
Who is to bear me like a thunder-bolt,
Against the bofom of the Prince of Wales.
Harry to Harry fhall, and horse to horfe

L3

Baited, i. e. flutter'd the wings. † cuiffes, fr. armour for the thighse twitch, for bewitch, charm.

Meet,

Meet, and ne'er part, till One drop down a coarse..
Oh, that Glendower were come.

Ver. There is more news:

I learn'd in Worcefter, as I rode along,

He cannot draw his pow'r this fourteen days.

Dow. That's the worft tidings that I hear of, yet. Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frofty found. Hot. What may the King's whole battle reach unto? Ver. To thirty thousand.

Hot. Forty let it be,

My father and Glendower being both away,
The pow'r of us may ferve fo great a day.
Come, let us take a mufter speedily:
Dooms-day is near; die all, die merrily.
Dow. Talk not of dying, I am out of fear
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year.

[Exeunt

SCENE III.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, theack

Ardolph, get thee before to Coventry; filt me a bottle of fack: our foldiers fhall march

through we'll to Sutton-cop-hill to-night.

Bard. Will you give me mony, captain?

Fal. Lay out, lay out.

Bard. This bottel makes an angel.

Fal. And if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coynage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. Bard. I will, captain; farewel. [Exit, Fal. If I be not afham'd of my foldiers, I am a fowc'd gurnet I have mif-us'd the King's prefs damnably. I have got, in exchange of an hundred and fifty foldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I prefs me none but good houfholders, yeomens fons ; enquire me out contracted batchelors, fuch as had been ask'd twice on the banes; fuch a commodity of warm

flaves,