P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me.

P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking.

Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation,

Enter POINS.

P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned.

What says

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and Sugar? But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gads Hill,--There are pilgrims going to Canterbury, with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke supper in Eastcheap: we may do it as secure as sleep; if you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns: if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged.

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going.

Poins. You will, chops?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?

P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee; nor thou cam'st not of the blood royal, if thou dar'st not stand for ten shillings.

P. Hen. Well then, once in my days, I'll be a mad

cap.

Fal. Why, that's well said.

P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

[Retires.

P. Hen. I care not.

Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time shall find me in

want countenance.

Eastcheap.

Farewell:

you

[Exit. P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown summer! [Advances.

Poins. Now my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders.

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins. Why, we will set forth before, or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have no sooner atchieved, but we'll set upon

them.

P. Hen. Ay, 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 visors we will change, after we leave them; and I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to inmask our noted outward garments.

P. Hen. 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, l'il for

swear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and, in the reproof of this, lies the jest.

P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all things necessary, and meet me in Eastcheap. Fare

well.

Poins. Farewell, my lord.

[Exit.
P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness:
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
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
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. [Exit.

SCENE III.

The Council Chamber.

Flourish of Trumpets and Drums.

KING HENRY, PRINCE JOHN, EARL OF WESTMORELAND, EARL OF WORCESTER, EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND, HOTSPUR, SIR W. BLUNT, SIR R. VERNON, and other GENTLEMEN, discovered.

K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tempe

rate,

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 us'd on it;

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

North. My lord,

K. Hen. 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
The moody frontier of a servant brow.

You have good leave to leave us : when we need

Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.

You were about to speak.

North. Yea, my good lord.

[Exit WORCESTER.

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

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
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, 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;
And still he smil'd, and talk'd ;

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; among 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;

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,-(Heaven save the

mark!)→→

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmacity, for an inward bruise;