ACT V. Scene I. The King's camp near Shrewsbury.  Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, Falstaff.    King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer     Above yon busky hill! The day looks pale     At his distemp'rature.   Prince. The southern wind     Doth play the trumpet to his purposes     And by his hollow whistling in the leaves     Foretells a tempest and a blust'ring day.   King. Theft with the losers let it sympathize,     For nothing can seem foul to those that win.       The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester [and Vernon].      How, now, my Lord of Worcester? 'Tis not well     That you and I should meet upon such terms     As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our trust     And made us doff our easy robes of peace     To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.     This is not well, my lord; this is not well.     What say you to it? Will you again unknit     This churlish knot of all-abhorred war,     And move in that obedient orb again     Where you did give a fair and natural light,     And be no more an exhal'd meteor,     A prodigy of fear, and a portent     Of broached mischief to the unborn times?   Wor. Hear me, my liege.     For mine own part, I could be well content     To entertain the lag-end of my life     With quiet hours; for I do protest     I have not sought the day of this dislike.   King. You have not sought it! How comes it then,   Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.   Prince. Peace, chewet, peace!   Wor. It pleas'd your Majesty to turn your looks     Of favour from myself and all our house;     And yet I must remember you, my lord,     We were the first and dearest of your friends.     For you my staff of office did I break     In Richard's time, and posted day and night     To meet you on the way and kiss your hand     When yet you were in place and in account     Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.     It was myself, my brother, and his son     That brought you home and boldly did outdare     The dangers of the time. You swore to us,     And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,     That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state,     Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,     The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster.     To this we swore our aid. But in short space     It it rain'd down fortune show'ring on your head,     And such a flood of greatness fell on you-     What with our help, what with the absent King,     What with the injuries of a wanton time,     The seeming sufferances that you had borne,     And the contrarious winds that held the King     So long in his unlucky Irish wars     That all in England did repute him dead-     And from this swarm of fair advantages     You took occasion to be quickly woo'd     To gripe the general sway into your hand;     Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster;     And, being fed by us, you us'd us so     As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,     Useth the sparrow- did oppress our nest;     Grew, by our feeding to so great a bulk     That even our love thirst not come near your sight     For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing     We were enforc'd for safety sake to fly     Out of your sight and raise this present head;     Whereby we stand opposed by such means     As you yourself have forg'd against yourself     By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,     And violation of all faith and troth     Sworn to tis in your younger enterprise.   King. These things, indeed, you have articulate,     Proclaim'd at market crosses, read in churches,     To face the garment of rebellion     With some fine colour that may please the eye     Of fickle changelings and poor discontents,     Which gape and rub the elbow at the news     Of hurlyburly innovation.     And never yet did insurrection want     Such water colours to impaint his cause,     Nor moody beggars, starving for a time     Of pell-mell havoc and confusion.   Prince. In both our armies there is many a soul     Shall pay full dearly for this encounter,     If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew     The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world     In praise of Henry Percy. By my hopes,     This present enterprise set off his head,     I do not think a braver gentleman,     More active-valiant or more valiant-young,     More daring or more bold, is now alive     To grace this latter age with noble deeds.     For my part, I may speak it to my shame,     I have a truant been to chivalry;     And so I hear he doth account me too.     Yet this before my father's Majesty-     I am content that he shall take the odds     Of his great name and estimation,     And will to save the blood on either side,     Try fortune with him in a single fight.   King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,     Albeit considerations infinite     Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no!     We love our people well; even those we love     That are misled upon your cousin's part;     And, will they take the offer of our grace,     Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man     Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his.     So tell your cousin, and bring me word     What he will do. But if he will not yield,     Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,     And they shall do their office. So be gone.     We will not now be troubled with reply.     We offer fair; take it advisedly.                                     Exit Worcester [with Vernon]   Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life.     The Douglas and the Hotspur both together     Are confident against the world in arms.   King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;     For, on their answer, will we set on them,     And God befriend us as our cause is just!                                 Exeunt. Manent Prince, Falstaff.   Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me, so!     'Tis a point of friendship.   Prince. Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that friendship.     Say thy prayers, and farewell.   Fal. I would 'twere bedtime, Hal, and all well.   Prince. Why, thou owest God a death. Exit.   Fal. 'Tis not due yet. I would be loath to pay him before his day.     What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well,     'tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick     me off when I come on? How then? Can honor set to a leg? No. Or     an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no     skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that     word honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died a     Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth be bear it? No. 'Tis     insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the     living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll     none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon- and so ends my catechism. Exit.     Scene II. The rebel camp.  Enter Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon.    Wor. O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,     The liberal and kind offer of the King.   Ver. 'Twere best he did.   Wor. Then are we all undone.     It is not possible, it cannot be     The King should keep his word in loving us.     He will suspect us still and find a time     To punish this offence in other faults.     Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes;     For treason is but trusted like the fox     Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd and lock'd up,     Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.     Look how we can, or sad or merrily,     Interpretation will misquote our looks,     And we shall feed like oxen at a stall,     The better cherish'd, still the nearer death.     My nephew's trespass may be well forgot;     It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood,     And an adopted name of privilege-     A hare-brained Hotspur govern'd by a spleen.     All his offences live upon my head     And on his father's. We did train him on;     And, his corruption being taken from us,     We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.     Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know,     In any case, the offer of the King.                 Enter Hotspur [and Douglas].    Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say 'tis so.     Here comes your cousin.   Hot. My uncle is return'd.     Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.     Uncle, what news?   Wor. The King will bid you battle presently.   Doug. Defy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland.   Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.   Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. Exit.   Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King.   Hot. Did you beg any, God forbid!   Wor. I told him gently of our grievances,     Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,     By now forswearing that he is forsworn.     He calls us rebels, traitors, aid will scourge     With haughty arms this hateful name in us.                         Enter Douglas.    Doug. Arm, gentlemen! to arms! for I have thrown     A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth,     And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it;     Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.   Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the King     And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight.   Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads,     And that no man might draw short breath to-day     But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me,     How show'd his tasking? Seem'd it in contempt?     No, by my soul. I never in my life     Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly,     Unless a brother should a brother dare     To gentle exercise and proof of arms.     He gave you all the duties of a man;     Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue;     Spoke your deservings like a chronicle;     Making you ever better than his praise     By still dispraising praise valued with you;     And, which became him like a prince indeed,     He made a blushing cital of himself,     And chid his truant youth with such a grace     As if lie mast'red there a double spirit     Of teaching and of learning instantly.     There did he pause; but let me tell the world,     If he outlive the envy of this day,     England did never owe so sweet a hope,     So much misconstrued in his wantonness.   Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured     Upon his follies. Never did I hear     Of any prince so wild a libertine.     But be he as he will, yet once ere night     I will embrace him with a soldier's arm,     That he shall shrink under my courtesy.     Arm, arm with speed! and, fellows, soldiers, friends,     Better consider what you have to do     Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,     Can lift your blood up with persuasion.                         Enter a Messenger.    Mess. My lord, here are letters for you.   Hot. I cannot read them now.-     O gentlemen, the time of life is short!     To spend that shortness basely were too long     If life did ride upon a dial's point,     Still ending at the arrival of an hour.     An if we live, we live to tread on kings;     If die, brave death, when princes die with us!     Now for our consciences, the arms are fair,     When the intent of bearing them is just.                    Enter another Messenger.    Mess. My lord, prepare. The King comes on apace.   Hot. I thank him that he cuts me from my tale,     For I profess not talking. Only this-     Let each man do his best; and here draw I     A sword whose temper I intend to stain     With the best blood that I can meet withal     In the adventure of this perilous day.     Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on.     Sound all the lofty instruments of war,     And by that music let us all embrace;     For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall     A second time do such a courtesy.                           Here they embrace. The trumpets sound.                                                        [Exeunt.]     Scene III. Plain between the camps.  The King enters with his Power.  Alarum to the battle.  Then enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt.    Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus     Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek     Upon my head?   Doug. Know then my name is Douglas,     And I do haunt thee in the battle thus     Because some tell me that thou art a king.   Blunt. They tell thee true.   Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought     Thy likeness; for instead of thee, King Harry,     This sword hath ended him. So shall it thee,     Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.   Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;     And thou shalt find a king that will revenge     Lord Stafford's death.      They fight. Douglas kills Blunt. Then enter Hotspur.    Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,     I never had triumph'd upon a Scot.   Doug. All's done, all's won. Here breathless lies the King.   Hot. Where?   Doug. Here.   Hot. This, Douglas? No. I know this face full well.     A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt;     Semblably furnish'd like the King himself.   Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes!     A borrowed title hast thou bought too dear:     Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?   Hot. The King hath many marching in his coats.   Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;     I'll murder all his wardrop, piece by piece,     Until I meet the King.   Hot. Up and away!     Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.                                                          Exeunt.                   Alarum. Enter Falstaff solus.    Fal. Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot     here. Here's no scoring but upon the pate. Soft! who are you?     Sir Walter Blunt. There's honour for you! Here's no vanity! I am     as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too. God keep lead out of me!     I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my     rag-of-muffins 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 the Prince.    Prince. What, stand'st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword.     Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff     Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,     Whose deaths are yet unreveng'd. I prithee     Rend me thy sword.   Fal. O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk Gregory     never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have paid     Percy; I have made him sure.   Prince. He is indeed, and living to kill thee.     I prithee lend me thy sword.   Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my     sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.   Prince. Give it me. What, is it in the case?   Fal. Ay, Hal. 'Tis hot, 'tis hot. There's that will sack a city.      The Prince draws it out and finds it to he a bottle of sack.      What, is it a time to jest and dally now?                               He throws the bottle at him. Exit.   Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my     way, so; if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a     carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter     hath. Give me life; which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes     unlook'd for, and there's an end.                      Exit.     Scene IV. Another part of the field.  Alarum. Excursions. Enter the King, the Prince, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland    King. I prithee,     Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleedest too much.     Lord John of Lancaster, go you unto him.   John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.   Prince. I do beseech your Majesty make up,     Lest Your retirement do amaze your friends.   King. I will do so.     My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.   West. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your tent.   Prince. Lead me, my lord, I do not need your help;     And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive     The Prince of Wales from such a field as this,     Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on,     And rebels' arms triumph in massacres!   John. We breathe too long. Come, cousin Westmoreland,     Our duty this way lies. For God's sake, come.                           [Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland.]   Prince. By God, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster!     I did not think thee lord of such a spirit.     Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John;     But now, I do respect thee as my soul.   King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point     With lustier maintenance than I did look for     Of such an ungrown warrior.   Prince. O, this boy     Lends mettle to us all!                                Exit.                           Enter Douglas.    Doug. Another king? They grow like Hydra's heads.     I am the Douglas, fatal to all those     That wear those colours on them. What art thou     That counterfeit'st the person of a king?   King. The King himself, who, Douglas, grieves at heart     So many of his shadows thou hast met,     And not the very King. I have two boys     Seek Percy and thyself about the field;     But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,     I will assay thee. So defend thyself.   Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit;     And yet, in faith, thou bearest thee like a king.     But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be,     And thus I win thee.     They fight. The King being in danger, enter Prince of Wales.    Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like     Never to hold it up again! The spirits     Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt are in my arms.     It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,     Who never promiseth but he means to pay.                                      They fight. Douglas flieth.     Cheerly, my lord. How fares your Grace?     Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent,     And so hath Clifton. I'll to Clifton straight.   King. Stay and breathe awhile.     Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,     And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life,     In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.   Prince. O God! they did me too much injury     That ever said I heark'ned for your death.     If it were so, I might have let alone     The insulting hand of Douglas over you,     Which would have been as speedy in your end     As all the poisonous potions in the world,     And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son.   King. Make up to Clifton; I'll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey. Exit.                        Enter Hotspur.    Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.   Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name.   Hot. My name is Harry Percy.   Prince. Why, then I see     A very valiant rebel of the name.     I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy,     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 shall it, Harry; for the hour is come     To end the one of us and would to God     Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!   Prince. 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.                                                      They fight.                        Enter Falstaff.    Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boy's play     here, I can tell you.     Enter Douglas. He fighteth with Falstaff, who falls down as if       he were dead. [Exit Douglas.] The Prince killeth Percy.    Hot. O Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth!     I better brook the loss of brittle life     Than those proud titles thou hast won of me.     They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh.     But thoughts the slave, of life, and life time's fool,     And time, that takes survey of all the world,     Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy,     But that the earthy and cold hand of death     Lies on my tongue. No, Percy, thou art dust,     And food for-                                        [Dies.]   Prince. 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 small a bound;     But now two paces of the vilest earth     Is room enough. This earth that bears thee dead     Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.     If thou wert sensible of courtesy,     I should not make so dear a show of zeal.     But let my favours hide thy mangled face;     And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself     For doing these fair rites of tenderness.     Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven!     Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,     But not rememb'red in thy epitaph!                                He spieth Falstaff on the ground.     What, old acquaintance? Could not all this flesh     Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell!     I could have better spar'd a better man.     O, I should have a heavy miss of thee     If I were much in love with vanity!     Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,     Though many dearer, in this bloody fray.     Embowell'd will I see thee by-and-by;     Till then in blood by noble Percy lie.                 Exit.                       Falstaff riseth up.    Fal. Embowell'd? If thou embowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to     powder me and eat me too to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to     counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot     too. Counterfeit? I lie; I am no counterfeit. To die is to be a     counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not     the life of a man; but to counterfeit dying when a man thereby     liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image     of life indeed. The better part of valour is discretion; in the     which better part I have saved my life. Zounds, I am afraid of     this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead. How if he should     counterfeit too, and rise? By my faith, I am afraid he would     prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure; yea,     and I'll swear I kill'd him. Why may not he rise as well as I?     Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore,     sirrah [stabs him], with a new wound in your thigh, come you     along with me.     He takes up Hotspur on his hack. [Enter Prince, and John of                             Lancaster.    Prince. Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou flesh'd     Thy maiden sword.   John. But, soft! whom have we here?     Did you not tell me this fat man was dead?   Prince. I did; I saw him dead,     Breathless and bleeding on the ground. Art thou alive,     Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight?     I prithee speak. We will not trust our eyes     Without our ears. Thou art not what thou seem'st.   Fal. No, that's certain! I am not a double man; but if I be not     Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There 's Percy. If your father     will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy     himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you.   Prince. Why, Percy I kill'd myself, and saw thee dead!   Fal. Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I     grant you I was down, and out of breath, and so was he; but we     rose both at an instant and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury     clock. If I may be believ'd, so; if not, let them that should     reward valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take it     upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh. If the man     were alive and would deny it, zounds! I would make him eat a     piece of my sword.   John. This is the strangest tale that ever I beard.   Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother John.     Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back.     For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,     I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.                                            A retreat is sounded.     The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours.     Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field,     To see what friends are living, who are dead.                           Exeunt [Prince Henry and Prince John].   Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God     reward him! If I do grow great, I'll grow less; for I'll purge,     and leave sack, and live cleanly, as a nobleman should do.                                     Exit [bearing off the body].     Scene V. Another part of the field.  The trumpets sound. [Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, with Worcester and Vernon prisoners.    King. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.     Ill-spirited Worcester! did not we send grace,     Pardon, and terms of love to all of you?     And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary?     Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman's trust?     Three knights upon our party slain to-day,     A noble earl, and many a creature else     Had been alive this hour,     If like a Christian thou hadst truly borne     Betwixt our armies true intelligence.   Wor. What I have done my safety urg'd me to;     And I embrace this fortune patiently,     Since not to be avoided it fails on me.   King. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too;     Other offenders we will pause upon.                          Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, [guarded].     How goes the field?   Prince. The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw     The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him,     The Noble Percy slain and all his men     Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest;     And falling from a hill,he was so bruis'd     That the pursuers took him. At my tent     The Douglas is, and I beseech Your Grace     I may dispose of him.   King. With all my heart.   Prince. Then brother John of Lancaster, to you     This honourable bounty shall belong.     Go to the Douglas and deliver him     Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free.     His valour shown upon our crests today     Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds,     Even in the bosom of our adversaries.   John. I thank your Grace for this high courtesy,     Which I shall give away immediately.   King. Then this remains, that we divide our power.     You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland,     Towards York shall bend you with your dearest speed     To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop,     Who, as we hear, are busily in arms.     Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales     To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March.     Rebellion in this laud shall lose his sway,     Meeting the check of such another day;     And since this business so fair is done,     Let us not leave till all our own be won.                                                          Exeunt.   THE END