But that the earthy and cold hand of death,
Lyes on my tongue: no, Percy, thou art duft,
And food for

[Dies.

P. Henry. Worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well!
Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou fhrunk !
When that this body did contain a spirit,
A Kingdom for it was too fmall a bound:
But now two paces of the vilest earth

Is room enough! this earth, that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive fo ftout a gentleman.

If thou wert fenfible of courtefie,

I should not make fo great a fhow of zeal.
* But let my favour hide thy mangled face,
And, ev'n in thy behalf, I'll thank my self
For doing these fair Rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heav'n;
Thy ignominy fleep with thee in the Grave,
But not remember'd in thy epitaph. [He fees Falstaff.
-What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life? poor Jack, farewel!
I could have better spar'd a better man.
Oh, I should have a heavy mifs of thee,
If I were much in love with Vanity.
Death hath not struck fo fat a Deer to day,
Though many a dearer in this bloody fray:
Imbowell'd will I fee thee by and by,
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lye.

S C
CEN E X.

Falstaff rifes.

[Exit.

Fal. Imbowell'd!-if thou imbowel me to day, I'll give you leave to powder me, and eat me to morrow! 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me fcot and lot too. Counterfeit ? 2 But let my favours hide thy mangled face,] We should read favour, face or countenance. He stooping down here to kifs

Hot-Spur.

I lie, I am no counterfeit; to die, is to be a counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life, indeed. The better part of valour is discretion; in the which better part, I have faved my life. I am afraid of this gun-powder Percy, though he be dead. How if he fhould counterfeit too, and rife? I am afraid, he would prove the better counterfeit; therefore I'll make him fure; yea, and I'll fwear, I kill'd him. Why may not he rife as well as I? nothing confutes me but eyes, and no body fees me. Therefore, firrah, with a new wound in your thigh come you along with me. [Takes Hot-fpur on his back.

Enter Prince Henry, and John of Lancaster.

P. Henry. Come, brother John, full bravely haft thou flesht

Thy maiden fword.

Lan. But foft! whom have we here?

Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead?
P. Henry. I did, I saw him dead,

And breathlefs on the ground: art thou alive,
Or is it fancy plays upon our eye-fight?
I pr'ythee, fpeak, we will not truft our eyes
Without our ears: thou art not what thou seem'ft.

Fal. No, that's certain; I am not a double man; but if I am not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack: there is Percy, if your father will do me any honour, fo; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself, I look either to be Earl or Duke, I can affure you.

P. Henry. Why, Percy I kill'd my self, and saw thee dead.

Fal. Did'ft thou? lord, lord, how the world is giv'n to lying! I grant you, I was down, and out of breath, and fo was he; but we rofe both at an inftant, and

fought

fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock: if I may be believed, fo; if not, let them, that should reward valour, bear the fin upon their own heads, I'll take't on my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my fword.

Lan. This is the strangeft Tale that e'er I heard. P. Henry. This is the ftrangest fellow, brother John. Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back: For my part, if a Lie may do thee grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.

[A retreat is founded. The trumpets found retreat, the day is ours: Come, brother, let's to th' highest of the field, To see what friends are living, who are dead.

[Exeunt. Fal. I'll follow, as they fay, for reward. He that rewards me, heav'n reward him! If I do grow great, I'll grow lefs; for I'll purge, and leave fack, and live cleanly, as a noble man fhould do.

[Exit.

The Trumpets found: Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmorland, with Worcester and Vernon Prisoners.

?

K. Henry. Thus ever did Rebellion find rebuke.
Ill-fpirited Wor'fter, did we not fend grace,
Pardon, and terms of love to all of you?
And would'ft thou turn our offers contrary
Mifufe the tenor of thy kinfman's truft?
Three Knights upon our party flain to day,
A noble Earl, and many a creature else,
Had been alive this hour,

If like a chriftian thou had'ft truly borne
Betwixt our armies true intelligence.

Wor, What I have done, my fafety urg'd me to;
O 4

And

And I embrace this fortune patiently,
Since not to be avoided it falls on me.

K. Henry. Bear Worcester to death, and Vernon too, Other Offenders we will paufe upon.

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded.

How goes the field?

[law P. Henry. The gallant Scot, lord Dowglas, when he The fortune of the day quite turned from him, The noble Percy flain, and all his men Upon the foot of fear, fled with the reft; And, falling from a hill, he was fo bruis'd, That the purfuers took him. At

my Tent The Douglas is, and, I befeech your Grace, I may difpofe of him.

K. Henry. With all my heart.

P. Henry. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you This honourable bounty fhall belong :

Go to the Douglas, and deliver him

Up to his pleasure, ranfomlefs and free:

His valour, fhewn upon our crefts to day,
Hath taught us how to cherish fuch high deeds,
Ev'n in the bofom of our adverfaries.

Lan. I thank your Grace for this high courtesie,
Which I fhall give away immediately. [Power.
K. Henry. Then this remains; that we divide our
You fon John, and my cousin Westmorland,
Tow'rds York fhall bend you, with your dearest speed,
To meet Northumberland and Prelate Scroop,
Who, as we hear, are bufily in arms,

My felf and You, fon Harry, will tow'rds Wales,
To fight with Glendower and the Earl of Marche,
Rebellion in this Land fhall lose his sway,
Meeting the check of fuch another day;
And fince this bufinefs fo far fair is done,
Let us not leave, till all our own be won.

[Exeunt.

3 I thank your Grace, &c] These two lines added out of the frit Edition.

Mr. Pope.

The