ACT V. SCENE I. The King's Camp near Shrewsbury. Enter King HENRY, Prince HENRY, Prince JOHN of Lancaster, Sir WALTER BLUNT, and Sir JOHN FALSTAFF. K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer P. Hen. The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize; For nothing can seem foul to those that win. Trumpet. Enter WORCESTER and VERNON. A prodigy of fear, and a portent *busky hill!] Busky is woody. (Bosquet, Fr.) Milton writes the word perhaps more properly, bosky. 5 to his purposes;] That is, to the sun's, to that which the sun portends by his unusual appearance. Of broached mischief to the unborn times? For mine own part, I could be well content I have not sought the day of this dislike. K. Hen. You have not sought for it! how comes Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks In Richard's time; and posted day and night Peace, chewet, peace.] A chewet, or chuet, is a noisy chattering bird, a pie. the injuries of a wanton time;] i. e. the injuries done by King Richard in the wantonness of prosperity. So long in his unlucky Irish wars, Sworn to us in your younger enterprize. K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articulated,' Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches; With some fine colour, that may please the eye And never yet did insurrection want 8 As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,] The cuckoo's chicken, who, being hatched and fed by the sparrow, in whose nest the cuckoo's egg was laid, grows in time able to devour her nurse. 9 we stand opposed, &c.] We stand in opposition to you. articulated,] i. e. exhibited in articles. 1 2 time, &c. starving for a time] i. e. impatiently expecting a Of pellmell havock and confusion. P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, And so, I hear, he doth account me too: And will, to save the blood on either side, K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, Albeit, considerations infinite Do make against it:-No, good Worcester, no, [Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON. 3 set off his head,] i. e. taken from his account. P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life: The Douglas and the Hotspur both together Are confident against the world in arms. K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; For, on their answer, will we set on them: [Exeunt King, BLUNT, and Prince 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 loath 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. [Exit. Honour is a mere scutcheon,] The reward of brave actions formerly was only some honourable bearing in the shields of arms bestowed upon deservers. But Falstaff having said that honour often came not till after death, he calls it very wittily a scutcheon, which is the painted heraldry borne in funeral processions; and by mere scutcheon is insinuated that whether alive or dead, honour was but a name. |