two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring : there's no more valor in that Poins, than in a wild duck.

P. Hen. Your money!
Poins. Villains!

[rushing out upon them.

[as they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon
them. Falstaff, after a blow or two, and the
rest, run away, leaving the booty behind them.
P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to
horse :

The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear
So strongly, that they dare not meet each other:
Each takes his fellow for an officer.

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Warkworth. A room in the castle.

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 house.' He could be contented!Why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house! He shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me The purpose you undertake is

see some more.

dangerous!' Why, that's certain; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle danger, we pluck this flower safety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, 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 constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month, and are they not, some of them, set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go`to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honorable an action! Hang him! let him tell the king: we are prepared: I will set forward to-night.

Enter LADY PERCY.

How now, Kate? I must leave you within these 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, sweet lord, what is 't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee,
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars;
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;
Cry, Courage!-to the field!' And thou hast
talk'd

Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets;

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin;

Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the 'currents 1 of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,

Occurrences.

Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream:

And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath

On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are these?

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,

And I must know it, else he loves me not.

Hot. What, ho! Is Gilliams with the packet gone?

Enter SERVANT.

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

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?

Ser. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
Ser. It is,
my lord.

Hot.

That roan shall be my throne. Well, I will back him straight. O Esperance! 1 Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

Lady P. But hear you, my lord.

[Exit Servant.

Hot. What say'st thou, my lady?
Lady P. What is it carries you away?
Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse.

Lady P. Out, you

A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen,

As you are toss'd with. In faith,

Motto of the Percy family.