Doug. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A PUBLICK ROAD NEAR COVENTRY. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through; we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night. Bard. Will you give me money, captain? Fal. Lay out, lay out. Bard. This bottle makes an angel. Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. Bard. I will, captain: farewel. [Exit. Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons: inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the bans; such a commodity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver, worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I press'd me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores: and such as, indeed, were never soldiers; but discarded unjust servingmen, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a calm world, and a long peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old faced ancient: and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services; that you would think, that I had a hundred and fifty tatter'd prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and press'd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat:-Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all my company: and the half-shirt is two napkins, tack'd together, and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at saint Alban's, or the red-nose innkeeper of Daintry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on every hedge. Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland. P. Hen. How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt? Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire?-My good lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy; I thought, your honour had already been at Shrewsbury. West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and you too; but my powers are there already: The king, I can tell you, looks for us all; we must away all night. Fal. Tut, never fear me; I am as vigilant, as a cat to steal cream. P. Hen. I think, to steal cream indeed; for thy theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack; Whose fellows are these that come after? Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals. Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. West. Ay, but sir John, methinks, they are exceeding poor and bare; too beggarly. Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty,-I know not where they had that: and for their bareness,—I am sure, they never learn'd that of me. P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste; Percy is already in the field, Fal. What, is the king encamp'd? West. He is, sir John; I fear, we shall stay too long. Fal. Well, To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt. SCENE III. THE REBEL CAMP NEAR SHREWSBURY. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon. Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. Wor. It may not be. Not a whit. Doug. You give him then advantage. Ver. Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply? Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night. Ver. Do not, my lord. Doug. You do not counsel well; You speak it out of fear, and cold heart. Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life, (And I dare well maintain it with my life,) If well-respected honour bid me on, I hold as little counsel with weak fear, As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives:- I wonder much, being men of such great leading, That you foresee not what impediments Drag back our expedition: Certain horse Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day; Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours: For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. [The trumpets sound a parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt. Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect. Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; And 'would to God, You were of our determination! Some of us love you well: and even those some But stand against us like an enemy. Blunt. And God defend, but still I should stand so, So long as, out of limit, and true rule, You stand against anointed majesty! - But, to my charge. The king hath sent to know Have any way your good deserts forgot,- He bids you name your griefs; and, with all speed, |