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P. Hen. An otter, Sir John? why an otter?

Fal. Why she's neither fish, nor fesh; a knows not where to have her.

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou!

P. Hen. Thou say'st true, Hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.

Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound.

P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million : thou ow'st me thy love.

Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said, he would cudgel you.

Fal. Did I, Bardolph ?
Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
Fal. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper.

P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper: dar’st thou be as good as thy word now?

Fal. Why, Hal, thou know'st as thou art but man, I dare; but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp.

P. Hen. And why not, as the lion ?

Fal. The king himself is to be fear'd as the lion : dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an if I do, let my girdle break!

P. Hen. Oh, it it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees ! Charye an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, imboss'd rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy to make thee long winded; if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it, you will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not ashamed?

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou know'st, in the state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor

Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villany? Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man; and, therefore, more frailty.--You confess, then, you picked my pocket?

P. Hen. It appears so, by the story.

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready breakfast: love thy husband, look to thy servants, and chcrish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason; thou seest, I am pacify’d.-Still:Nay, I pr’ythee, begone. (Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news at court : for the robbery, lad—How is that answered ?

P. Hen. The money is paid back again. 'Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour.

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing.

Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed hands too.

Bard. Do, my lord.

P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.

Fal. I would it had been of horse! Where shall I find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the age of two and twenty, or thereabouts ! I am heinously unprovided. Well, Heaven be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I praise them. P. Hen. Bardolph, Bard. My lord. P. Hen. Go, bear this letter to Lord John of Lan

caster, My brother John ; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.

[Exit BARDOLPH. Jack, Meet me to-morrow in the Temple Hall, At two o'clock i'the afternoon : There shalt thou know thy charge ; and there receive

Money, and order for their furniture.
The land is burning ; Percy stands on high ;
And either they or we must lower lie.

[Exit the Prince. Fal. Rare words! brave world!

Hostess, my breakfast! come: O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum! [Erit.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I

Hotspur's Camp, near Shrewsbury.

Flourish of Trumpets and Drums.

Enter EARL OF DOUGLAS, HOTSPUR, EARL OF

WORCESTER, GENTLEMEN, and SOLDIERS.

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking truth, In this fine age, were not thought Aattery, Such attribution should the Douglas have, As not a soldier of this season's stamp Should go so general current through the world. By Heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy The tongues of soothers; but a braver place In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to the word ; approve me, lord.

Doug. Thou art the king of honour:

No man so potent breathes upon the ground,
But I will beard him.

Hot. Do so, and 'tis well :

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Enter RABY.
What letters hast thou there?
Rab. These letters come from

your

father. Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not him

self?
Rab. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous

sick.
Hot. Sick! how has he the leisure to be sick ?
In such a justling time? Who leads his power ?
Under whose government come they along?

Rab. His letters bear his mind, not I.
Hot. His mind!
Wor. I pr’ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?

Rab. He did, 'my lord, four days ere I set forth;
And, at the time of my departure thence,
He was much fear’d by his physicians.
Wor. I would, the state of time had first been

whole,
Ere he by sickness had been visited !
His health was never better worth than now,
Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth in-

fect
The very life-blood of our enterprise ;
'Tis catching bither, even to our camp.-
He writes me here,—that inward sickness,
And, that his friends by deputation, could not
So soon be drawn ;-
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
That, with our small conjunction, we should on,
To see how fortune is disposed to us :
For, as he writes, there is no quailing now;
Because the king is certainly possess'd
Of all our purposes.

What say you to it?
IV or. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.

It will be thought
By some, that know not why he is away,
That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike
Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence;
This absence of your father's, draws a curtain,
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt of.

Hot. You strain too far.
I, rather, of his absence make this use:-
It lends a lustre, and more great opinion,
A larger dare to our great enterprise,
Than if the earl were here: for men must think,
If we, without his help, can make a head
To push against the kingdom; with his help,
We shall o’erturn it topsy-turvy down.-
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole,
Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a

word Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear.

[A Trumpet sounds.

Enter Sir Richard Vernon, and Two

GentleMEN. Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul ! Ver. 'Pray Heaven, my news be worth a welcome,

lord ! The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him, Prince John.

Hot. No harm : What more?

Ver. And further, I have learn'd,-
The king himself in person is set forth,
Or hitherwards intended speedily,
With strong and mighty preparation.

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,
The nimble-footed, mad-cap, Prince of Wales,
And his comrades, that daft'd the world aside,
And bid it pass ?

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