Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see; I'll tie

them in the wood; our vizards we will change
after we leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases 200
of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted

outward garments.

Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for

us.

Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: 210 how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.

Prince. Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and meet me to-morrow night in

Eastcheap; there I'll

Poins. Farewell, my lord.

Prince. I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyoked humour of your idleness:

[Exit.

220

Yet herein will I imitate the sun,

Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wonder❜d at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,

Of

vapours

To sport would be as tedious as to work;

But when they seldom come, they wish'd for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.

So, when this loose behaviour I throw off
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
And like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time when men think least I will.

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240

[Exit.

Scene III.

London. The palace.

Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur,
Sir Walter Blunt, with others.

King. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
Unapt to stir at these indignities,

And you have found me; for accordingly
You tread upon my patience: but be sure
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition;
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
And therefore lost that title of respect

Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
The Scourge of greatness to be used on it;

And that same greatness too which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.

North. My lord,—

King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see

Danger and disobedience in thine eye:

O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure

ΙΟ

The moody frontier of a servant brow.

You have good leave to leave us: when we need 20
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

[Exit Wor.

You were about to speak.

[To North.

Yea, my good lord.

North.

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded,
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As is deliver'd to your majesty:

Either envy, therefore, or misprision

Is guilty of this fault and not my son. Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.

339

30

But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ;
He was perfumed like a milliner;

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon

He

gave

his nose and took 't away again; Who therewith angry, when it next came there, 40 Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk'd,

17 b

17

And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms

He question'd me; amongst the rest, demanded
My prisoners in your majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,

Out of my grief and my impatience,

Answer'd neglectingly I know not what,

50

He should, or he should not; for he made me mad To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman

Of

guns
and drums and wounds,-God save the
mark!.

And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,

60