[Falstaff] Tut, tut, food for powder, food for powder: they'll fill a pit as well as better: tush, man,-mortal men, mortal men!

[Westmorland.] Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare.

[Falstaff.] 'Faith, for their poverty, my lord Westmorland, I know not where they had that; and for their bareness-I am sure they never had that of me. the king encamped?

But is

[Westmorland.] He is, Sir John; I fear we shall stay too long. Fare you well.

[P. Henry.] Jack, farewell.—

[a pause.]

[Falstaff] Fare well! that will I when I can :—and truly, The latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Suits, that, a dull fighter, and this, a keen guest.

A short interval must be supposed, in order that the king's forces may all arrive in the camp near Shrewsbury. We are to imagine the exterior of the royal tent on the morning of the battle. The king is in the space before the tent, surrounded by those who are to command under him, including Prince Henry, Prince John, Lord Westmorland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Falstaff. The first speakers are the king and the prince:

[K. Henry.] How bloodily the sun begins to peer Above yon woody hill! The day looks pale At his distemperature.

[P. Henry.] The southern wind

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves,
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

[K. Henry.] Then with the losers let it sympathize;
For nothing can seem foul to those that win.

A trumpet sounds a parley: the earl of Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon enter with a flag of truce: the king fixes his eye on Worcester, and continues:

How now, my lord of Worcester? 'tis not well
That you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet: you have deceiv'd our trust,
And made us doff our easy robes of peace,
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel:
This is not well, my lord,-this is not well.
What say you to 't? Will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all abhorred war,
And move in that obedient orb again,
Where you did give a fair and natural light?

[Worcester.] Hear me, my liege :

For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag end of my life
With quiet hours; for, I do protest,

I have not sought the day of this dislike.

friends.

[K. Henry.] You have not sought it, sir! how comes it, then?
[Worcester.] It pleas'd your majesty to turn your looks
Of favour from myself and all our house;
And yet I must remember you, my lord,
We were the first and dearest of your
For you, my staff of office did I break
In Richard's time, and posted day and night
To meet you on your way, and kiss your hand,
When yet you were, in place and in account,
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.

It was myself, my brother, and his son,
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare
The dangers of the time.

Grown by our feeding to so great a bulk,
We were enforc'd, for safety's sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present head,
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
And violation of all faith and truth
Sworn to us in your younger enterprise.

[K. Henry.] Such are the things indeed you have proclaim'd At market crosses, so to give a colour

To your rebellion, that may please the eye

Of those who rub the elbow at the news

Of hurly-burly innovation.

And never yet did insurrection want
His moody beggars, starving for a time
Of pell-mell havoc and confusion.

Prince Henry comes forward, and addresses Westmorland:

[P. Henry.] In both our armies there is many' a soul
Shall dearly pay the encounter of our hosts,
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Harry Percy: by my hopes,-
(The present enterprise set from his head,-)
I do not think a braver gentleman,
More daring, bold, and valiant, is alive,
To grace our laggard age with noble deeds.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
I have a truant been to chivalry;
And so I hear he doth account me too:
Yet this before my father's majesty,—
I am content that he shall take the odds
Of his great name and estimation;
And will, to save the blood on either side,
Try fortune with him in a single fight.

[K. Henry.] And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, But that considerations infinite

Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no;
We love our people well; even those we love
That are misled upon your cousin's part,
And offer grace But if they will not yield,

-

Rebuke and dread correction wait upon us,
And they shall do their office. So, be gone;
We will not now be troubled with reply
Hence every leader to his charge assign'd!
For, on their answer, we will set on them,
And heaven befriend us, as our cause is just!

As the several parties are moving to their posts, Falstaff says to the prince, "I would it were bed-time Hai, and

"Thou owest

all well" to which the prince answers, heaven a death," and passes on. Falstaff, being left alone, continues his reflections:

[Falstaff] Owe heaven a death? Ay, but 'tis not due yet, and I should 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 sets me on. Yea, but how if honour set me off when I come on? Can honour set 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 that word honour? Air. 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,-detraction will not suffer it :--therefore I'll none of it. Honour is a mere 'scutcheon; and so ends iny catechism.

The king's offer of pardon is suspected; a defiance is returned; and the battle begins. Something removed from the thickest of the fight, two warriors, who have watched each other's acts, come front to front. Ready in posture to attack or to defend, they address each other before they proceed to use their swords:

[Hotspur.] If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. [P. Henry.] Thou speakst as if I would deny my name. [Hotspur.] My name is Harry Percy.

[P. Henry.] Then I see

A very valiant rebel of that name.

I am the prince of Wales: and think not, Percy,
To share with me in glory any more:

Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;
Nor can one England brook a double reign
Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales.

[Hotspur.] Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come
To end the one of us: and would to heaven,
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!

[P. Henry.] I'll make it greater ere I part from thee; And all the budding honours on thy crest

I'll crop, to make a garland for my head. [Hotspur.] I can no longer brook thy vanities.

It requires a vivid imagination to conceive the combat that follows:—with our own eyes of sense, we cannot see it, but we may look with those of Falstaff, who at this instant enters, declaring "Here is no boy's play :-Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! to it, Hal!" But Falstaff has little time to watch the battle of others: an opponent enters who forces him to look to himself. This is Douglas, who had sought the king in all parts of the field, and had slain several that wore the royal armour. Still in pursuit of the same object, he attacks Falstaff only because he stands in his way. The fat knight falls as with a mortal wound, and the eager Scot passes on to higher game. Meanwhile the combat is continued between Hotspur and the prince : at length Hotspur is wounded, the life-blood flows, his sword drops, and from the earth he speaks to the prince, who stands over him:

[Hotspur.] O Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth: I better brook the loss of brittle life,

Than those proud titles thou hast won of me;

They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my
Oh, I could prophesy,

But that the earthy and cold hand of death

[flesh :

[heart!

Lies on my tongue :—No, Percy, thou art dust,

And food for

[P. Henry.] For worms, brave Percy: Fare thee well, great Ill-weav’d ambition, how much art thou shrunk! When that this body did contain a spirit,

A kingdom for it was too small a bound;
But now, two paces of the vilest earth

Is room enough. This earth, that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive so brave a gentleman.

Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!
This day's defeat sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remember'd in thine epitaph.

[a pause.]