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? Fal. Ay, Hal, 'tis hot. There's that will fack a city. [The Prince draws it out, and finds it a bottle of fack. P. Henry. What, is it a time to jeft and dally now? [Throws it at him, and Exit. Fal. 9 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 hath, give me life, which if I can fave, fo; if not, honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. [Exit. Alarm, Excurfions. Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, and the Earl of Westmorland. K. Henry. I pr'ythee, Ilarry, withdraw thyself, thou bleedeft too much. Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. My lord of Westmorland, lead him to his Tent. 9 If Percy be alive, I'LL pierce him;] Certainly, HE'LL pierce him, i. e. Prince Henry will, who is just gone out to feek him. Befides, I'll pierce him, contradicts the whole turn and humour of the fpeech. WARBURTON. I rather take the conceit to be this. To pierce a veffel is to top it. Falstaff takes up his bottle 8 which the Prince had toffed at his head, and being about to animate himfelf with a draught, cries, if Percy be alive I'll pierce him, and fo draws the cork. I do not propofe this with much confidence. A carbonado is a piece of meat cut crofwife for the gridiron. P. Henry. P. Henry. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help; And heav'n forbid, a fhallow fcratch fhould drive The Prince of Wales from fuch a field as this, And Rebels arms triumph in maffacres ! Lan. We breathe too long; come, coufin Wat morland, Our duty this way lies; for heav'n's fake, come. P. Henry. By heav'n, thou haft deceiv'd me, Lancafter, I did not think thee lord of fuch a fpirit; Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John; 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 Dowgles, fatal to all thofe That wear thofe colours on them. What art thou, That counterfeit'ft the perfon of a King? K. Henry. The King himfelf, who, Dowglas, grieves at heart, So many of his fhadows thou haft met, And not the very King. I have two boys Dowg. I fear, thou art another counterfeit, [They fight, the King being in danger; Enter 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 flyeth. K. Henry. Stay, and breathe a while; And fhew'd, thou mak'ft fome tender of my life, P. Henry. O heav'n! they did me too much injury, [Exit. SCENE IX. Enter Hotspur. Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. P. Henry. Thou fpeak'ft as if I would deny my name. Hot. My name is Harry Percy. P. Henry. Then I fee A very valiant Rebel of that name. I am the Prince of Wales: and think not, Percy, Το To share with me in Glory any more. Two Stars keep not their motion in one sphere; Hot. Nor fhall it, Harry, for the hour is come I'll crop, to make a garland for Enter Falstaff. [Fight. Fal. Well faid, Hal; to it, Hal.-Nay, you fhall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead. The Prince kills Percy. Hot. O, Harry, thou haft robb'd me of my youth. I better brook the lofs of brittle life, Than those proud titles thou haft won of me, They wound my thoughts, worse than thy fword my flesh; But thought's the flave of life, and life time's fool, And food for Thofe proud Titles thou hast and life time's fool; And time -must have a flop.] Hot-fpur in his laft moments endeavours to confole himself. The glory of the Prince VOL. IV. [Dies. P. Henry. For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, great heart! Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk! When that this body did contain a spirit, A Kingdom for it was too fmall a bound: But now two paces of the vileft earth Is room enough. This earth, that bears thee dead, Bears not alive fo ftout a gentleman. If thou wert fenfible of courtefy, I should not make fo great a fhow of zeal; [He fees Falstaff on the ground. -What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh Keep in a little life? poor Jack! farewel! [Exit. |