Fal. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern. Gads. There's enough to make us all.

Fal. To be hang'd.

P. Henry. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins, and I, will walk lower: if they 'scape from your encounter, then they light on us.

Peto. But how many be there of them?

Gads. Some eight, or ten.

Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us?

P. Henry. What, a coward, fir John Paunch?

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal.

P. Henry. Well, we leave that to the proof.

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge; when thou need'ft him, there thou fhalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast.

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I fhould be hang'd. P. Henry. Ned, where are our disguises?

Poins. Here, hard by; ftand close.

Fal. Now, my mafters, "happy man be his dole, say I; every man to his bufinefs.

Enter Travellers.

Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy fhall lead our horses down the hill: we'll walk afoot a while, and ease our legs. Thieves. Stand.

Trav. Jefu blefs us!

Fal. Strike; down with them; cut the villains' throats: Ah! whorefon caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth down with them; fleece them.

Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours, for ever.

Fal. Hang ye, "gorbellied knaves; Are ye undone ?

bappy man be bis dole,]-good luck betide us.

TAMING OF THE SHREW, Vol. II. p. 288. Hor. gorbellied-corpulent.

No,

No, ye fat chuffs; I would, your store were here! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves? young men must live: You are grand-jurors, are ye? We'll jure ye, i'faith. [Here they rob and bind them. [Exeunt.

Enter Prince Henry, and Poins.

P. Henry. The thieves have bound the true men: Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jeft for ever.

Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming.

Enter thieves again.

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horfe before day. An the prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's no more va lour in that Poins, than in a wild duck.

P. Henry. Your money.

Poins. Villains!

[As they are fharing, the Prince and Poins fet upon them. They all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind him.] P. Henry. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: The thieves are fcatter'd, and poffefs'd with fear So ftrongly, 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:
Wer't not for laughing, I fhould pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd!

* cuffs-churls, clowns.

Y argument]-furnish a topic of conversation, a fubject of merriment.

SCENE

Enter Hotspur, reading a letter.

-But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in refpect of the love I bear your boufe. -He could be contented,-Why, is he not then? In refpect of the love he bears our houfe :-he fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. The purpose you undertake, is dangerous, -Why, that's certain; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, fafety. The purpose you undertake, is dangerous; the friends you have named, uncertain; the time itself unforted; and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoize of fo great an oppofition.-Say you fo, fay you fo? I fay unto you again, you are a fhallow 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 conftant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation: an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frofty-fpirited rogue is this? Why, - my lord of York commends the plot, and the general courfe of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rafcal, I could brain him with his lady's 'fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myfelf? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, befides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next

a

a letter from G. Dunbar, earl of March, in Scotland.

my lord of York]-Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York.

b fan-fans were formerly made of feathers, with handles of gold, filver, &c.

month?

month? and are they not, fome of them, fet forward al ready? What a pagan rafcal is this? an infidel? Ha! you thall fee now, in very fincerity 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 fuch a difh of fkimm'd milk with fo honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the king:-we are prepared. I will fet forward to-night.

Enter Lady Percy.

How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.

Lady. 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, fweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden fleep?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth;
And ftart fo often, when thou fit'ft alone?
Why haft thou loft the fresh blood in thy cheeks,
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee,
To thick-ey'd mufing, and curs'd melancholy?
In thy faint flumbers, 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 haft talk'd
Of fallies, and retires; of trenches, tents,

d

Of palifadoes, frontiers, parapets,

Of bafilisks, of cannon, culverin ;

Of prisoners' ransom, and of foldiers flain,

And all the 'currents of a heady fight.

Kate?-Lady Percy's name was Elizabeth, but Shakspeare had a fondness for this familiar appellation.

с

bafilifks.]-great guns.

f beady fight.]- a warm engagement.

d frontiers,]-forts.

Thy

Thy spirit within thee hath been fo at war,
And thus hath so beftir'd thee in thy fleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late-difturbed ftream:

And in thy face ftrange motions have appear'd,
Such as we fee when men reftrain their breath

On some great fudden hafte. O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,

And I must know it, elfe he loves me not,

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

Enter Servant.

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

Hot. Hath Butler brought thofe horses from the fheriff?
Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.

Hot. What horfe? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
Serv. It is, my lord.

Hot. That roan fhall be

my throne.

Well, I will back him ftraight: O'efperance !

Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

Lady. But hear you, my lord.

Hot. What fay'ft thou, my lady?

Lady. What is it carries you away?

Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse.
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape !

A weazle hath not such a deal of spleen,

As you are toft with.

[Exit Serv.

In footh, I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.

I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir

About his title, and hath fent for you,

To line his enterprize: But if you go

Hot. So far afoot, I fhall be weary, love.

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me

efperanza-Perry's motto, and word of battle,
K k

VOL. III.

Directly