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 in that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning!-Who hath it? He that died o'Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it 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 VERNON. Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir Richard, The liberal 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; 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, A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen: And on his father's;—we did train him on; Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so. Enter HOTSPUR and DOUGLAS; and Officers and Soldiers, behind. Hot. My uncle is return'd:-Deliver up My lord of Westmoreland.-Uncle, What news? [Exit. Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. By now forswearing that he is forsworn: He calls us, rebels, traitors; and will scourge Re-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? Ver. No, by my soul; I never in my life Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue; And chid his truant youth with such a grace, As if he master'd there a double spirit, There did he pause: But let me tell the world,-— England did never owe so sweet a hope, Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured 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, Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. O gentlemen, the time of life is short; To spend that shortness basely, were too long, 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! 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 [The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt. SCENE III. Plain near Shrewsbury. Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the battle. Then enter DOUGLAS and BLUNT, meeting. 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 |