Of any Prince, fo wild, at liberty. I will embrace him with a foldier's arm, Arm, arm with speed. And fellows, foldiers, friends, Better confider what you have to do, T Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, Can lift your blood up with perfuafion. Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. O Gentlemen, the time of life is fhort: Enter another Meffenger. Meff. My lord, prepare, the King comes on apace. Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, For I profefs not talking: only this, Let each man do his best. And here draw I A fword, whofe temper I intend to stain [They embrace, then exeunt, The Trumpets found. The King entereth with his Power; Alarm to the battle. Then enter Dowglas, and Sir Walter Blunt. Blunt. WHAT THAT is thy name, that thus in battle croffeft me? What honour doft thou seek upon my head? Dowg. Know then, my name is Dowglas, And I do haunt thee in the battle thus, Because fome tell me that thou art a King. Blunt. They tell thee true. Dowg. The lord of Stafford dear to day hath bought Thy likeness; for instead of thee, King Harry, This fword hath ended him; fo fhall it thee, Unless thou yield thee as my prifoner. Blunt. I was not born to yield, thou haughty Scot, And thou fhalt find a King that will revenge Lord Stafford's death. Fight, Blunt is flain: then enter Hot-fpur. Hot. O Dowglas, hadft thou fought at Holmedon thus, I never had triumphed o'er a Scot. Dowg. All's done, all's won, here breathless lies the King. Hot. Where? Dowg. Here. Hot. This, Dowglas? no: I know his face full well: A gallant Knight he was, his name was Blunt, Semblably furnish'd like the King himself. Dowg. Ah! fool go with thy foul, whither it goes! A borrow'd title haft thou bought too dear.. Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a King? Hot. The King hath many marching in his coats. Dowg. Now by my fword, I will kill all his coats; I'll murder all his wardrobe piece by piece, Until I meet the King. Hot. Hot. Up and away, Our foldiers ftand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt. Fal. HOUGH I could 'fcape fhot-free at London, I fear the fhot here: here's no fcoring, but upon the pate. Soft, who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt there's honour for you; *here's no vanity! I am as hot as moulten lead, and as heavy too: heav'n keep lead out of me, I need no more weight than mine own bowels! I have led my rag-o-muffians where they are pepper'd: 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. P. Henry. What, ftand'ft thou idle here? lend me thy fword; Many a noble man lies ftark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies ; Whose deaths are unreveng'd. Lend me thy fword. Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe a while. Turk Gregory never did fuch deeds in arms, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him fure. P. Henry. He is, indeed, and living to kill thee: I pr'ythee, lend me thy sword. Fal. Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'ft not my fword: but take my piftol, if thou wilt. P. Henry. Give it me: what, is it in the cafe? here's no vanity!] In our Author's Time the Negative, in common Speech, was used to defign, ironically, the Excels of a Thing. Thus Ben Johnson in Every Man in his Humour, says, O here's no Foppery! Death, I can endure the Stocks better. Meaning, as the Paffage fhews, that the Foppery was exceffive. And fo in many other Places. Fal. Fal. Ay, Hal, 'tis hot. There's that will fack a city. [The Prince draws out a bottle of fack• P. Henry. What, is it a time to jeft and dally now? Throws it at him, and Exit. Fal. If Percy be alive, I'll pierce him; if he do come in my way, fo; if he do not, if I come in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado of me.. I like not fuch grinning honour as Sir Walter bath: give me life, which if I can fave, so; if not, honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. [Exit. Alarum, Excurfions. Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and the Earl of Westmorland. K. Henry. Predeft too much: Lord John of LanI Pr'ythee, Harry, withdraw thyfelf, thou cafter, go you with him. Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. My lord of Weftmorland, lead him to his Tent. And heav'n forbid, a shallow scratch should drive And Rebels arms triumph in maffacres ! Lan. We breath too long; come, coufin Weftmor land, Our duty this way lies; for heav'n's fake, come, cafier, I did not think thee lord of fuch a spirit: K. Henry: K. Henry. I faw him hold lord Percy at the point, With luftier maintenance than I did look for Of fuch an ungrown warrior. P. Henry. Oh, this boy Lends mettle to us all, Manet King Henry. Enter Dowglas. [Exeunt. Dowg. Another King? they grow, like Hydra's heads: I am the Dowglas, fatal to all those. That wear thofe colours on them. What art thou, That counterfeit'ft the person of a King? So K. Henry. The King himself, who, Dowglas, grieves at heart, many of his fhadows thou haft met, Dowg. I fear, thou art another counterfeit; [They fight the King being in danger. Enter Prince Henry. P. Henry. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like Never to hold it up again: the Spirits They fight, Dowglas flieth. K. Henry. Stay, and breathe a while; Thou haft redeem'd my loft opinon, And |