Chapter: 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.

 The Earl of Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon arrive as emissaries at the king's camp near Shrewsbury. Present are the king himself, the Prince of Wales, John of Lancaster, the Earl of Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff. As Hotspur did earlier in his reply to the king's emissary , Worcester voices at some length the grievances of the Percies, chief of which is Henry's alleged perfidy when, returning from exile, he assured them that he sought no more than the restoration of confiscated Lancastrian estates. The king does not deign to answer this charge; instead he dismisses it as no more than a pretext for rebellion against the Crown. He refuses to permit the Prince of Wales to settle the dispute in single combat with Hotspur. Instead, he offers the rebels free pardon if they will lay down their arms. After Worcester and Vernon leave, the prince states that both Hotspur and Douglas, supremely confident and proven warriors, will reject the offer. The king agrees and orders all officers to their posts. Falstaff shows little desire to risk his life in any kind of conflict. He asks Hal to keep an eye on him and to help him if necessary. Alone, he soliloquizes on the subject of honor and finds no profit in being a dead hero.

