Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas; And I do haunt thee in the battle thus, Because some tell me that thou art a king. Blunt. They tell thee true.

Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought Thy likeness, for, instead of thee, king Harry, This fword hath ended him :. fo fhall it thee,

Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.

Blunt. I was not born to yield, thou haughty Scot; And thou shalt find a king that will revenge Lord Stafford's death.

Fight, Blunt is flain. Enter Hotfpur.

Hot. O Douglas, hadft thou fought at Holmedon thus, I never had triumph'd o'er a Scot.

Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathlefs 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 foul, whither it goes!
A borrow'd title haft thou bought too dear.
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?
Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats.
Doug. Now by my fword, 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 foldiers ftand full fairly for the day.

[Exeunt.

W

Other alarums. Enter Falstaff.

Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, I fear the fhot here; here's no fcoring, but upon the pate.Soft! who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt ;-there's honour for you: Here's no vanity!—I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: Heaven keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my raggamuffins where they are pepper'd: there's but three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here?

Enter Prince Henry.

P. Henry. What, ftand'st thou idle here? lend me thy fword :

Many a nobleman lies ftark and stiff

Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,

Whose deaths are unreveng'd: lend me thy fword.

Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe a while. Turk Gregory never did fuch deeds in arms, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him fure.

P. Henry. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. I pr'ythee, lend me thy fword.

Fal. Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'ft not my fword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.

P. Henry. Give it me: What, is it in the cafe? Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will fack a city. [The Prince draws out a bottle of fack. P. Henry. What, is it a time to jeft and dally now? [Throws it at him, and exit.

"Here's no vanity !]-ironically.

"Here's no knavery !" ́

TAMING OF THE SHREW, Vol. II. p. 296. Gru.

* Turk Gregory]-Pope Gregory the Seventh-Hildebrand. fure.]fafe, certainly difpofed of him.

Fal.

Fal. If Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my way, fo; if he do not,-if I come in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not fuch grinning honour as fir Walter hath: Give me life: which if I can fave, fo; if not, honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Another Part of the Field.

Alorums. Excurfions. Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and the Earl of Westmoreland.

K. Henry. Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'ft too much :

Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.

Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. P. Henry. I beseech your majefty, make up, Left your retirement do amaze your friends.. K. Henry. I will do fo :

My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.

Weft. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. P. Henry. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help: And heaven forbid, a fhallow fcratch fhould drive

The prince of Wales from fuch a field as this;

Where ftain'd nobility lies trodden on,

And rebels' arms triumph in maffacres !

Lan. We breathe too long:-Come, coufin Weftmore

land,

Our duty this way lies; for heaven's fake, come.

[Exeunt P. John and Weft.

P. Henry. By heaven, thou haft deceiv'd me, Lancaster,

Į did not think thee lord of fuch a spirit:

Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John;

But now, I do refpect thee as my foul.

K. Henry. I faw him hold lord Percy at the point, With luftier maintenance than I did look for

Of fuch an ungrown warrior,

P. Henry. O, this boy

Lends mettle to us all!

Enter Douglas.

[Exit.

Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads : I am the Douglas, fatal to all thofe

That wear those colours on them.-What art thou,
That counterfeit'st the person of a king?

K. Henry. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart,

So many of his fhadows thou haft met,

And not the very king, I have two boys,
Seek Percy, and thyfelf, about the field:
But, feeing thou fall'st on me fo luckily,
I will affay thee; fo defend thyself.

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

[They fight; the King being in danger, enter Prince Henry. P. Henry. 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 arms:
It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee;
Who never promifeth, but means to pay.-

[They fight, Douglas flyeth. Cheerly, my lord; How fares your grace?—

a but be.

Sir Nicholas Gawfey hath for fuccour fent,
And fo hath Clifton; I'll to Clifton ftraight.
K. Henry. Stay, and breathe a-while-
Thou haft redeem'd thy loft opinion;

And fhew'd, thou mak'ft fome tender of my life,
In this fair rescue thou haft brought to me.

P. Henry. O heaven! they did me too much injury,
That ever faid, I hearken'd for your death.

If it were fo, I might have let alone

The infulting hand of Douglas over you;
Which would have been as speedy in your end,
As all the poisonous potions in the world,
And fav'd the treacherous labour of

your fon.

K. Henry. Make up to Clifton, I'll to fir Nicholas

Gawley,

Enter Hotfpur,

[Exit.

Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
P. Henry. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.
Hot. My name is Harry Percy.

P. Henry. Why, then I fee

A very valiant rebel of that name.

I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,

To share with me in glory any more:

Two ftars keep not their motion in one sphere;
Nor can one England brook a double reign,
Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales,
Hot. Nor fhall it, Harry, for the hour is come
To end the one of us; And would to heaven,
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!
P. Henry. I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee;
And all the budding honours on thy crest

I'll crop to make a garland for my head.
Hot. I can no longer brook thy'vanities.

b loft opinion;]-character-my loft opinion.

004

[Fight.

Enter