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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.

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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.

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[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.
P. Henry. I do befeech your Majesty make up,
Left your retirement do amaze your friends.
K. Henry. I will do fo.

My lord of Westmorland, lead him to his Tent.
Weft. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your 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,
Where ftain'd Nobility lies trodden on,

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;
But now, I do refpect thee as my foul.

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
Seck Percy and thyfelf about the field;
But feeing thou fall'ft on me fo luckily,
I will affay thee; fo defend thyfelf.

Dowg. I fear, thou art another counterfeit,
And yet, in faith, thou bear'ft thee like a King;
But mine, I'm fure, thou art, whoc'r thou be,
And thus I win thee.

[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
Of Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms.
It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,
Who never promifeth, but means to pay.

[They fight, Dowglas flyeth.
Chearly, my lord; how fares your Grace?
Sir Nicholas Gawfey hath for fuccour fent,
And fo hath Clifton; I'll to Clifton ftrait.

K. Henry. Stay, and breathe a while;
Thou haft redeem'd my loft opinion,

And fhew'd, thou mak'ft fome tender of my life,
In this fair rescue thou haft brought to me.

P. Henry. O heav'n! they did me too much injury,
That ever faid, I hearken'd for your death.
If it were fo, I might have let alone
Th' infulting hand of Dowglas over you;
Which would have been as speedy in your end,
As all the pois'nous potions in the world,
And fav'd the treach'rous labour of your fon.
K. Henry. Make up to Clifton, I'll to Sir Nicholas
Gawfey.

[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;
Nor can one England brook a double Reign,
Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales.

Hot. Nor fhall it, Harry, for the hour is come
To end the one of us; and would to heav'n,
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.
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities.

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,

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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 time, that takes furvey of all the world,
Must have a ftop. O, I could prophefie,
But that the earthy and cold hand of death,
Lyes on my tongue. No, Percy, thou art dust,

And food for

Thofe proud Titles thou hast
won of me;
They round my thoughts
But thought's the flave of life,

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.

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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;
3 But let my favours hide thy mangled face,
And, ev'n in thy behalf, I thank myself
For doing these fair Rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praife with thee to heav'n;
Thy ignominy fleep with thee in the Grave,
But not remember'd in thy epitaph.

[He fees Falstaff on the ground. -What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh

Keep in a little life? poor Jack! farewel!
I could have better fpar'd a better man.
Oh, I should have a heavy mifs of thee,
If I were much in love with Vanity.
Death hath not ftruck 4 fo fair 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.

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[Exit.

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