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Doug. Talk not of dying: I am out of fear Of death or death's hand for this one half

year.

[Erennt.

SCENE II.-A Public 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 Co'fil' 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: farewell.

[Exit. Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused 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 asked twice on the banns; 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 pressed me none but such toasts-andbutter, 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 lick at his sores; and such as, indeed, were never soldiers, but discarded unjust serving men, 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 tattered 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 pressed 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 not a shirt and a half in all my company and the half-shirt is two napkins tacked 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 St. Albans, or the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. 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, 't is 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 to-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 learned 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 encamped?

[Exit.

West. He is, Sir John: I fear we shall stay too

long.

Fal. Well,

[Exit.

To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a

feast,

Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.

[Exit.

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.

Doug. You give him, then, advantage.

Ver.

Not a whit.

Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply?

Ver. So do we.

Hot.

His is certain, ours is doubtful.

Wor. Good cousin, be advised, stir not to-night.

Ver. Do not, my lord.

Doug.

You do not counsel well.

You speak it out of fear and a 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, or any Scot that this day lives:
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle,
Which of us fears.

Doug.

Yea, or to-night.

Ver.

Content.

Hot. To-night, say I.

Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder

much,

Being men of such great leading as you are,
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,

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