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And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour sitting on his helm,
'Would they were multitudes! and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf:
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of Heaven, I promise here:
The which, if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty may salve
The long grown wounds of my intemperance:
If not, the end of life cancels all bands;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this :Thou shalt have charge, and sov’reign trust, herein.

Enter Sir Walter BLUNT. How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt. So is the business that I come to speak of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, That Douglas, and the English rebels, met, The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury: A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept on every hand, As ever offer'd foul play in a state. K. Hen. The Earl of Westmoreland sets forth to

day; With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;

For this advertisement is five days old :-
On Wednesday next, my Harry, you shall set
Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will march:
Our meeting is Bridgenorth : and, Harry, you
Shall march through Glostershire.
Our hands are full of business: let's away;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exeunt.


The Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap.


Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since This last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle ? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose

gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John.Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse.—The inside of a church !- Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Fal. Why, there is it:-come, sing me a song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be ; virtuous enough: swore little ; diced, not above seven times a week; went to a bordello, not above once in a quarter-of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four times; lived

well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: thou art our admiral-thou bear'st the lantern in the poop,mbut 't is in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head,

or a memento mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that liv'd in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. --When thou rann'st up Gads Hill in the night, to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wild-fire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it!

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly !

Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.

Enter Hostess.

dame Partlet the hen ? have you inquired yet who picked my pocket?

Host. Why, Sir John! what do you think, Sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my

houseI have searched, I have inquired, so has my husband,

How now,

man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.

Fal. You lie, hostess : Bardolph was shav'd, and lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn my pocket was picked : go to, you are a woman, go.

Host. Who I? I defy thee: I was never called so in mine own house before.

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.

Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me, Sir John: I know you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them,

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, Holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings; and money lent you, four and twenty pounds.

Fål. He had his part of it; let him pay.
Host. He: alas, he is poor ; he hath nothing.

Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich ? let ihem coin his nose, let them coin bis cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease în mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal ring of my grandfaiher's, worth forty mark.

Host. O, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that the ring was copper.

Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so, Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, playing on his

Truncheon, like a Fife ; and Falstaff meets him. How now, lad ? is the wind in that door, i'faith? Must we all march?


Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me.

P. Hen. What say'st thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband ? I love him well, he is an honest

Host. Good my lord, hear me.
Fal. Pr’ytbee, let her alone, and list to me.
P. Hen. What say'st thou, Jack?

Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets.

P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack ?

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.

P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter.

Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said, he would cudgel you.

P. Hen. What? he did not?

Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stew'd prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go.

Host. Say, what thing? what thing i
Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank Heaven

Host. I am no thing to thank Heaven on, I would thou shouldst know it; I am an honest man's wife : and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so.

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou?
Fal. What beast? why, an otter.


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