Plain between the Camps.
[Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the battle.
Then enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt, meeting.]
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.
They tell thee true.
The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought
Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, King Harry,
This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee,
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.
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. Enter Hotspur.]
O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
I never had triumphed o’er a Scot.
All’s done, all’s won; here breathless lies the King.
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.
A fool go with thy soul, where’re it goes!
A borrow’d title hast thou bought too dear:
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?
The King hath many marching in his coats.
Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;
I’ll murder all his wardrobe piece by piece,
Until I meet the King.
Up, and away!
Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.
[Alarums. Enter Falstaff.]
FAL. Though I could ‘scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here; here’s no scoring but upon the pate.—Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt: there’s honour for you! here’s no vanity! I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my ragamuffins where they are peppered: there’s not 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.]
What, stand’st thou idle here? lend me thy sword:
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
Whose deaths are yet unrevenged: I pr’ythee,
Lend me thy sword.
O Hal, I pr’ythee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk
Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have done this
day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure.
He is indeed; and living to kill thee.
I pr’ythee, lend me thy sword.
FAL. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett’st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.
Give it me: what, is it in the case?
Ay, Hal. ‘Tis hot, ’tis hot: there’s that will sack a city.
[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.]
What, is’t a time to jest and dally now?
[Throws it at him, and exit.]
FAL. Well, if Percy be alive, I’ll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so; if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: give me life; which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there’s an end.