To fight against me under Percy's pay,

To dog his heels, and curt'fy at his frowns,
To show how much degenerate thou art.

P. HEN. Do not think fo, you shall not find it so:
And God forgive them, that so much have fway'd
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And, in the clofing of fome glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your fon;
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And ftain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash'd away, fhall fcour my fhame with it.
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this fame child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotfpur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour fitting on his helm,

'Would they were multitudes; and on my head
My fhames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I fhall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.

Percy is but my factor, good my lord,

To engrofs up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to fo ftrict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the flightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promise here:
The which if he be pleas'd I fhall perform,
I do beseech your majesty, may falve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance;
If
not, the end of life cancels all bands;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,

Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. HEN. A hundred thousand rebels die in this :-
Thou shalt have charge, and fovereign trust, herein.
Enter BLUNT.

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.
BLUNT. So hath the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath fent word,-
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met,
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:

A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a fstate.

K. HEN. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;
With him my fon, lord John of Lancaster ;
For this advertisement is five days old :—
On Wednesday next, Harry, you fhall fet
Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will march:
Our meeting is Bridgnorth: and, Harry, you
Shall march through Glofterfhire; by which account,
Our business valued, fome twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of bufinefs: let's away;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Eaftcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head

Tavern.

Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH.

I am

FAL. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely fince this laft action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loofe gown; wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that fuddenly, while I am in fome liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to rẻ

pent. An I have not forgotten what the infide of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the infide of a church: Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.

BARD. Sir John, you are fo fretful, you cannot live long. FAL. Why, there is it :-come, fing me a bawdy fong; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: fwore little; diced, not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter-of an hour; paid money that I borrow'd, three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

BARD. Why, you are fo fat, fir John, that you must needs be out of all compafs; out of all reasonable compafs, fir John.

FAL. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral, thou beareft the lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

BARD. Why, fir John, my face does you no harm.

FAL. No, I'll be fworn; I make as good ufe of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori: I never fee thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the fon of utter darkness. When thou ran'ft up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadft been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlast

money.

ing bonfire-light! Thou haft faved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the fack that thou haft drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that falamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it!

BARD. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! FAL. God-a-mercy! fo fhould I be fure to be heartburn'd.

Enter HOSTESS.

How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you inquired yet, who pick'd my pocket?

HOST. Why, fir John! what do you think, fir John ? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have search'd, I have inquired, fo has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, fervant by fervant: the tithe of a hair was never loft in my houfe before.

FAL. You lie, hoftefs; Bardolph was fhaved, and loft many a hair: and I'll be fworn, my pocket was pick'd: Go to, you are a woman, go.

HOST. Who I? I defy thee: I was never call'd fo in mine own house before.

FAL. Go to, I know you well enough.

HOST. No, fir John; you do not know me, fir John: I know you, fir John: you owe me money, fir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

FAL. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them.

HOST. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight fhillings an ell. You owe money here befides, fir John,

diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you,

four and twenty pound.

FAL. He had his part of it; let him pay.

Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.

FAL. How! poor? look upon his face; What call you rich? let them coin his nofe, let them coin his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? fhall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I have loft a feal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark.

HOST. O Jefu! I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ring was copper.

FAL. How the prince is a Jack, a fneak-cup; and, if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.

Enter Prince HENRY and POINS, marching. FALSTAFF

meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon, like a fife. FAL. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith? must we all march?

BARD. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion.

HOST. My lord, I pray you, hear me.

P. HEN. What fay'st thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honeft man. HOST. Good my lord, hear me.

FAL. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and lift to me.

P. HEN. What fay'ft thou, Jack ?

FAL. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket pick'd: this house is turn'd bawdyhouse, they pick pockets.

P. HEN. What didft thou lofe, Jack?

FAL. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a feal-ring of my grandfather's.