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And start so often when thou sitt'st alone?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks;
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee,
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars:
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;
Cry, Courage!-to the field! And thou hast

talk'd

Of sallies and retires; of trenches, tents;
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets;
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin;

Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the current of a heady fight.

Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream:
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents
are these?

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot. What, ho!

Enter Servant.

Is Gilliams with the packet gone? Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even

now.

Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? Serv. It is, my lord.

Hot.

That roan shall be my throne.

Well, I will back him straight: Esperancé!— Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.

[Exit Servant.

Lady. But hear you, my lord.
Hot. What say'st thou, my lady?
Lady. What is it carries you away?
Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse.
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
As you are toss'd with. In sooth,

I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title; and hath sent for you,
To line his enterprize: but if you go—

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I shall ask.
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Hot. Away,

Away, you trifler!-Love?—I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips :
We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too.-Gods me, my
horse!-

What say'st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me?

Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?

Well, do not then; for, since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no.

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;

I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout:
Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude,
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise; but yet no further wise
Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are,
But yet a woman and for secrecy,

No lady closer; for I will believe

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate! Lady. How! so far?

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate: Whither I go, thither shall you go too; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.Will this content you, Kate?

Lady.

It must of force.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern.

Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS.

P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where hast been, Hal?

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their christian names, asTom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy: and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,

and when I am king of England, I shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing scarlet: and when you breathe in your watering, they cry-hem! and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned,-to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an under-skinker; one that never spake other English in his life, than -"Eight shillings and sixpence" and "You are welcome; "with this shrill addition,-"Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Halfтооп, or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer to what end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but-anon. Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent.

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Poins. Francis !

P. Hen. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis !

Enter FRANCIS.

[Exit.

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.-Look down into the Pomegranate, Ralph.

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord?

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as

to

Poins. [within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Five years! by'r lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Fran. O lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heartPoins. [within.] Francis !

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis?

Fran. Let me see,-about Michaelmas next I shall be

Poins. [within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, sir.-Pray you stay a little, my lord.

P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis for the sugar thou gavest me,-'twas a pennyworth, was't not?

Fran. O lord, sir! I would it had been two. P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt and thou shalt have it.

Poins. [within.] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. Francis,

Fran. My lord?

But,

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal button, nott-pated, agate-ring, pukestocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanishpouch,

Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean?

P. Hen. Why, then, your brown bastard is

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