Chapter: Scena Tertia.


Alarum, excursions, enter the King, the Prince, Lord Iohn of
Lancaster,
and Earle of Westmerland.

  King. I prethee Harry withdraw thy selfe, thou bleedest
too much: Lord Iohn of Lancaster, go you with him

   P.Ioh. Not I, My Lord, vnlesse I did bleed too

   Prin. I beseech your Maiesty make vp,
Least your retirement do amaze your friends

   King. I will do so:
My Lord of Westmerland leade him to his Tent

   West. Come my Lord, Ile leade you to your Tent

   Prin. Lead me my Lord? I do not need your helpe;
And heauen forbid a shallow scratch should driue
The Prince of Wales from such a field as this,
Where stain'd Nobility lyes troden on,
And Rebels Armes triumph in massacres

   Ioh. We breath too long: Come cosin Westmerland,
Our duty this way lies, for heauens sake come

   Prin. By heauen thou hast deceiu'd me Lancaster,
I did not thinke thee Lord of such a spirit:
Before, I lou'd thee as a Brother, Iohn;
But now, I do respect thee as my Soule

   King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point,
With lustier maintenance then I did looke for
Of such an vngrowne Warriour

   Prin. O this Boy, lends mettall to vs all.
Enter.

Enter Dowglas.

  Dow. Another King? They grow like Hydra's heads:
I am the Dowglas, fatall to all those
That weare those colours on them. What art thou
That counterfeit'st the person of a King?
  King. The King himselfe: who Dowglas grieues at hart
So many of his shadowes thou hast met,
And not the very King. I haue two Boyes
Seeke Percy and thy selfe about the Field:
But seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
I will assay thee: so defend thy selfe

   Dow. I feare thou art another counterfeit:
And yet infaith thou bear'st thee like a King:
But mine I am sure thou art, whoere thou be,
And thus I win thee.

They fight, the K[ing]. being in danger, Enter Prince.

  Prin. Hold vp thy head vile Scot, or thou art like
Neuer to hold it vp againe: the Spirits
Of valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Armes;
it is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,
Who neuer promiseth, but he meanes to pay.

They Fight, Dowglas flyeth.

Cheerely My Lord: how fare's your Grace?
Sir Nicolas Gawsey hath for succour sent,
And so hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton straight

   King. Stay, and breath awhile.
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,
And shew'd thou mak'st some tender of my life
In this faire rescue thou hast brought to mee

   Prin. O heauen, they did me too much iniury,
That euer said I hearkned to your death.
If it were so, I might haue let alone
The insulting hand of Dowglas ouer you,
Which would haue bene as speedy in your end,
As all the poysonous Potions in the world,
And sau'd the Treacherous labour of your Sonne

   K. Make vp to Clifton, Ile to Sir Nicholas Gausey.

Exit

Enter Hotspur.

  Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth

   Prin. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name

   Hot. My name is Harrie Percie

   Prin. Why then I see a very valiant rebel of that name.
I am the Prince of Wales, and thinke not Percy,
To share with me in glory any more:
Two Starres keepe not their motion in one Sphere,
Nor can one England brooke a double reigne,
Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales

   Hot. Nor shall it Harry, for the houre is come
To end the one of vs; and would to heauen,
Thy name in Armes, were now as great as mine

   Prin. Ile make it greater, ere I part from thee,
And all the budding Honors on thy Crest,
Ile crop, to make a Garland for my head

   Hot. I can no longer brooke thy Vanities.

Fight.

Enter Falstaffe.

  Fal. Well said Hal, to it Hal. Nay you shall finde no
Boyes play heere, I can tell you.
Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falstaffe, who fals down as if he
were dead.
The Prince killeth Percie.

  Hot. Oh Harry, thou hast rob'd me of my youth:
I better brooke the losse of brittle life,
Then those proud Titles thou hast wonne of me,
They wound my thoghts worse, then the sword my flesh:
But thought's the slaue of Life, and Life, Times foole;
And Time, that takes suruey of all the world,
Must haue a stop. O, I could Prophesie,
But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death,
Lyes on my Tongue: No Percy, thou art dust
And food for-
  Prin. For Wormes, braue Percy. Farewell great heart:
Ill-weau'd Ambition, how much art thou shrunke?
When that this bodie did containe a spirit,
A Kingdome for it was too small a bound:
But now two paces of the vilest Earth
Is roome enough. This Earth that beares the dead,
Beares not aliue so stout a Gentleman.
If thou wer't sensible of curtesie,
I should not make so great a shew of Zeale.
But let my fauours hide thy mangled face,
And euen in thy behalfe, Ile thanke my selfe
For doing these fayre Rites of Tendernesse.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heauen,
Thy ignomy sleepe with thee in the graue,
But not remembred in thy Epitaph.
What? Old Acquaintance? Could not all this flesh
Keepe in a little life? Poore Iacke, farewell:
I could haue better spar'd a better man.
O, I should haue a heauy misse of thee,
If I were much in loue with Vanity.
Death hath not strucke so fat a Deere to day,
Though many dearer in this bloody Fray:
Imbowell'd will I see thee by and by,
Till then, in blood, by Noble Percie lye.
Enter.

Falstaffe riseth vp.

  Falst. Imbowell'd? If thou imbowell mee to day, Ile
giue you leaue to powder me, and eat me too to morow.
'Twas time to counterfet, or that hotte Termagant Scot,
had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I am no counterfeit;
to dye, is to be a counterfeit, for hee is but the
counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: But
to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liueth, is to be
no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeede.
The better part of Valour, is Discretion; in the
which better part, I haue saued my life. I am affraide of
this Gun-powder Percy though he be dead. How if hee
should counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid hee would
proue the better counterfeit: therefore Ile make him sure:
yea, and Ile sweare I kill'd him. Why may not hee rise as
well as I: Nothing confutes me but eyes, and no-bodie
sees me. Therefore sirra, with a new wound in your thigh
come you along me.

Takes Hotspurre on his backe.

Enter Prince and Iohn of Lancaster.

  Prin. Come Brother Iohn, full brauely hast thou flesht
thy Maiden sword

   Iohn. But soft, who haue we heere?
Did you not tell me this Fat man was dead?
  Prin. I did, I saw him dead,
Breathlesse, and bleeding on the ground: Art thou aliue?
Or is it fantasie that playes vpon our eye-sight?
I prethee speake, we will not trust our eyes
Without our eares. Thou art not what thou seem'st

   Fal. No, that's certaine: I am not a double man: but
if I be not Iacke Falstaffe, then am I a Iacke: There is Percy,
if your Father will do me any Honor, so: if not, let him
kill the next Percie himselfe. I looke to be either Earle or
Duke, I can assure you

   Prin. Why, Percy I kill'd my selfe, and saw thee dead

   Fal. Did'st thou? Lord, Lord, how the world is giuen
to Lying? I graunt you I was downe, and out of breath,
and so was he, but we rose both at an instant, and fought
a long houre by Shrewsburie clocke. If I may bee beleeued,
so: if not, let them that should reward Valour, beare
the sinne vpon their owne heads. Ile take't on my death
I gaue him this wound in the Thigh: if the man were aliue,
and would deny it, I would make him eate a peece
of my sword

   Iohn. This is the strangest Tale that e're I heard

   Prin. This is the strangest Fellow, Brother Iohn.
Come bring your luggage Nobly on your backe:
For my part, if a lye may do thee grace,
Ile gil'd it with the happiest tearmes I haue.

A Retreat is sounded.

The Trumpets sound Retreat, the day is ours:
Come Brother, let's to the highest of the field,
To see what Friends are liuing, who are dead.

Exeunt.

  Fal. Ile follow as they say, for Reward. Hee that rewards
me, heauen reward him. If I do grow great again,
Ile grow lesse? For Ile purge, and leaue Sacke, and liue
cleanly, as a Nobleman should do.

Exit

 The battle has begun. Sir Walter Blunt, disguised as the King, encounters Douglas. Douglas assumes he is the King and tells him that he has earlier killed the Lord of Stafford, who was disguised as the King. They fight, and Douglas kills Blunt. Hotspur enters, and Douglas tells him the battle is over, for he has killed the King. But Hotspur informs him that the dead man was not the King, but Blunt. He tells Douglas that there are many men on the battlefield dressed as the King. After they exit, Falstaff enters alone, cowering from the battle. Almost all of his hundred and fifty men have been killed, partly because Falstaff led them into harm's way, so he could draw the dead soldiers' pay. The Prince enters and chides Falstaff for standing idly around. He asks to borrow Falstaff's sword. Falstaff claims that he needs a breather, having fought valiantly. He even claims to have killed Hotspur. Hal knows that Hotspur is still alive, and again asks for Falstaff's sword. Falstaff prefers to keep possession of his sword, but tells Hal he can take his pistol. Falstaff's pistol turns out to be a bottle of sack, and the Prince throws the bottle at him in disgust. The Prince exits, leaving Falstaff alone. He says he would like to kill Hotspur, if he can, but he also realizes there is a good possibility that Hotspur will kill him instead. He plans to save his life if he can, but realizes the situation is not entirely in his control.

