K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy land.

Weft. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news

Came from the north, and thus it did import.
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery,

And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the iffue any way.

K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-induftrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each foil

Betwixt that Holmedon and this feat of ours;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The earl of Douglas is discomfited;

Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
Balk'd in their own blood, did fir Walter fee

On Holmedon's plains: Of prifoners, Hotfpur took
Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest fon

To beaten Douglas; and the earl of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? ha, coufin, is it not?
Weft. In faith,

It is a conqueft for a prince to boast of.

K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me fad, and mak'st me

fin

In envy that my lord Northumberland

B 2

Should

Should be the father of fo bleft a fon :

A fon, who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove, the very ftraightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride :
Whilft I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and difhonour ftain the brow

Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd,
That fome night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
And call'd mine-Percy, his-Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts :-What think you, coz',
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,

Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd,

To his own use he keeps; and fends me word,
I fhall have none but Mordake earl of Fife.

Weft. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, Malevolent to you in all aspects;

Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The creft of youth against your dignity.

K. Hen. But I have fent for him to answer this;
And, for this caufe, awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpofe to Jerufalem.

Coufin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windfor, fo inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be faid, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered.
Weft. I will, my liege.

[Exeunt,

SCENE

SCENE II.

The fame. Another Room in the Palace.

Enter HENRY Prince of Wales, and FALSTAFF.

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

P. Hen. Thou art fo fat-witted, with drinking of old fack, and unbuttoning thee after fupper, and fleeping upon benches after noon, that thou haft forgotten to demand that truly which thou would't truly know. What a devil haft thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of fack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the figns of leapinghouses, and the bleffed fun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffata; I fee no reason, why thou should'st be fo fuperfluous to demand the time of the day.

Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now Hal: for we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus,-he, that wandering knight fo fair, And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,-as, God fave thy grace, (majesty, I should fay; for grace thou wilt have none,)

P. Hen, What! none?

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter,

P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, fweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are fquires of the night's body, be call'd thieves of the day's beauty; let us be-Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the fhade, minions of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good government; being govern'd as the fea is, by our noble and chafte mistress the moon, under whose countenance we-steal.

P. Hen. Thou fay'st well; and it holds well too: for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the fea; being govern'd as the fea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purfe of gold most resolutely fnatch'd on Monday night, and moft diffolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with fwearing-lay by; and spent with crying-bring in: now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Fal. By the Lord, thou fay'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?

P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the caftle. And is not a buff jerkin a moft sweet robe of durance ?

Fal. How now, how now, inad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hoftefs of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou haft call'd her to a reckoning, many a time and oft.

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou haft paid all there. P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, fo far as my coin would ftretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit.

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that, were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,-But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, fhall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king and refolution thus fobb'd as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

P. Hen. No; thou shalt.

Fal. Shall I O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

P. Hen.

P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and fo become a rare hangman.

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in fome fort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell

you.

P. Hen. For obtaining of fuits?

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugg'd bear.

P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute.

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

P. Hen. What say'st thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?

Fal. Thou haft the most unfavoury fimiles; and art, indeed, the most comparative, rafcallieft,-sweet young prince,-But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought: An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, fir; but I mark'd him not: and yet he talk'd very wifely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talk'd wifely, and in the street too.

P. Hen. Thou did'ft well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

Fal. O, thou haft damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a faint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man fhould fpeak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be damn'd for never a king's fon in Christendom.

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purfe to-morrow, Jack?