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Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk
Sworn to us in your younger enterprise.
K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articulated, Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches;
To face the garment of rebellion
With some fine colour that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings and poor discontents,
And never yet did insurrection want
P. Hen. In both our armies there is many a soul
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world
Of his great name and estimation,
And will, to save the blood on either side,
Try fortune with him in a single fight.
K. Hen. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,
Albeit considerations infinite
Do make against it.-No, good Worcester, no,
We love our people well; even those we love
Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his :
We offer fair; take it advisedly. [Exeunt WoR. and VER.
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; For, on their answer, will we set on them:
And God befriend us, as our cause is just!
[Exeunt KING, BLUNT, and P. JOHN. Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship.
P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell.
Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. Fal. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loth to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set-to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word, honour? What is that honour? air. A trim reckoning!-Who hath it? he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. Is it insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it :—therefore I'll none of it: honour is a mere scutcheon: and so ends my catechism.
SCENE II.-The Rebel Camp.
Enter WORCESTER and VERNON.
Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard, The liberal kind offer of the king.
Ver. 'Twere best he did.
Then are we all undone.
It is not possible, it cannot be,
The king should keep his word in loving us;
To punish this offence in other faults:
A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen:
And on his father's: we did train him on;
Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so.
Enter HOTSPUR and DOUGLAS; Officers and Soldiers behind.
Hot. My uncle is return'd:-deliver up
My Lord of Westmoreland.-Uncle, what news?
Wor. I told him gently of our grievances,
Doug. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth,
And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it;
Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the king,
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.
And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight.
Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads;
And chid his truant youth with such a grace,
There did he pause: but let me tell the world,—
England did never owe so sweet a hope,
But be he as he will, yet once ere night
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm,
That he shall shrink under my courtesy.
Arm, arm with speed:-and, fellows, soldiers, friends,
Better consider what you have to do
Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,
Can lift your blood up with persuasion.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, here are letters for you.
O gentlemen, the time of life is
To spend that shortness basely were too long,
If die, brave death, when princes die with us!
Enter another Messenger.
Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace.
Let each man do his best: and here draw I
[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt.
SCENE III.-Plain near Shrewsbury.
Excursions, and parties fighting. Alarum to the battle. Then enter DOUGLAS and BLUNT, meeting.
Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek
Upon my head?
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,
The sword hath ended him: so shall it thee,
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.
Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot; And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death. [They fight, and BLUNT is slain.
Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot.
Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathless lies the
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 soul, whither it goes!