Shakespeare's First Folio Part 300

I saw young Harry with his Beuer on, His Cushes on his thighes, gallantly arm'd, Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his Seat, As if an Angell dropt downe from the Clouds, To turne and winde a fierie Pegasus, And witch the World with n.o.ble Horsemans.h.i.+p

Hotsp. No more, no more, Worse then the Sunne in March: This prayse doth nourish Agues: let them come.

They come like Sacrifices in their trimme, And to the fire-ey'd Maid of smoakie Warre, All hot, and bleeding, will wee offer them: The mayled Mars shall on his Altar sit Vp to the eares in blood. I am on fire, To heare this rich reprizall is so nigh, And yet not ours. Come, let me take my Horse, Who is to beare me like a Thunder-bolt, Against the bosome of the Prince of Wales.

Harry to Harry, shall not Horse to Horse Meete, and ne're part, till one drop downe a Coa.r.s.e?

Oh, that Glendower were come

Ver. There is more newes: I learned in Worcester, as I rode along, He cannot draw his Power this fourteene dayes

Dowg. That's the worst Tidings that I heare of yet

Wor. I by my faith, that beares a frosty sound

Hotsp. What may the Kings whole Battaile reach vnto?

Ver. To thirty thousand

Hot. Forty let it be, My Father and Glendower being both away, The powres of vs, may serue so great a day.

Come, let vs take a muster speedily: Doomesday is neere; dye all, dye merrily

Dow. Talke not of dying, I am out of feare Of death, or deaths hand, for this one halfe yeare.

Exeunt. Omnes.

Scaena Secunda.

Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph.

Falst. Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me a Bottle of Sack, our Souldiers shall march through: wee'le to Sutton-cop-hill to Night

Bard. Will you giue me Money, Captaine?

Falst. Lay out, lay out

Bard. This Bottle makes an Angell

Falst. And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if it make twentie, take them all, Ile answere the Coynage.

Bid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end

Bard. I will Captaine: farewell.

Enter.

Falst. If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am a sowc't-Gurnet: I haue mis-vs'd the Kings Presse d.a.m.nably.

I haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie Souldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I presse me none but good House-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquire me out contracted Batchelers, such as had beene ask'd twice on the Banes: such a Commoditie of warme slaues, as had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; such as feare the report of a Caliuer, worse then a struck-Foole, or a hurt wilde-Ducke. I prest me none but such Tostes and b.u.t.ter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then Pinnes heads, and they haue bought out their seruices: And now, my whole Charge consists of Ancients, Corporals, Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as ragged a Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons Dogges licked his Sores; and such, as indeed were neuer Souldiers, but dis-carded vniust Seruingmen, younger Sonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapsters and Ostlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, and long Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged, then an old-fac'd Ancient; and such haue I to fill vp the roomes of them that haue bought out their seruices: that you would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter'd Prodigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating Draffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and prest the dead bodyes. No eye hath seene such skar-Crowes: Ile not march through Couentry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as if they had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the most of them out of Prison. There's not a s.h.i.+rt and a halfe in all my Company: and the halfe s.h.i.+rt is two Napkins tackt together, and throwne ouer the shoulders like a Heralds Coat, without sleeues: and the s.h.i.+rt, to say the truth, stolne from my Host of S[aint]. Albones, or the Red-Nose Inne-keeper of Dauintry. But that's all one, they'le finde Linnen enough on euery Hedge.

Enter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmerland.

Prince. How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt?

Falst. What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuill do'st thou in Warwicks.h.i.+re? My good Lord of Westmerland, I cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already beene at Shrewsbury

West. 'Faith, Sir Iohn, 'tis more then time that I were there, and you too: but my Powers are there alreadie.

The King, I can tell you, lookes for vs all: we must away all to Night

Falst. Tut, neuer feare me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, to steale Creame

Prince. I thinke to steale Creame indeed, for thy theft hath alreadie made thee b.u.t.ter: but tell me, Iack, whose fellowes are these that come after?

Falst. Mine, Hal, mine

Prince. I did neuer see such pittifull Rascals

Falst. Tut, tut, good enough to tosse: foode for Powder, foode for Powder: they'le fill a Pit, as well as better: tush man, mortall men, mortall men

Westm. I, but Sir Iohn, me thinkes they are exceeding poore and bare, too beggarly

Falst. Faith, for their pouertie, I know not where they had that; and for their barenesse, I am sure they neuer learn'd that of me

Prince. No, Ile be sworne, vnlesse you call three fingers on the Ribbes bare. But sirra, make haste, Percy is already in the field

Falst. What, is the King encamp'd?

Westm. Hee is, Sir Iohn, I feare wee shall stay too long

Falst. Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the beginning of a Feast, fits a dull fighter, and a keene Guest.

Exeunt.

Scoena Tertia.

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.

Hotsp. Wee'le fight with him to Night

Worc. It may not be

Dowg. You giue him then aduantage

Vern. Not a whit

Hotsp. Why say you so? lookes he not for supply?

Vern. So doe wee

Hotsp. His is certaine, ours is doubtfull

Worc. Good Cousin be aduis'd, stirre not to night

Vern. Doe not, my Lord

Dowg. You doe not counsaile well: You speake it out of feare, and cold heart

Vern. Doe me no slander, Dowglas: by my Life, And I dare well maintaine it with my Life, If well-respected Honor bid me on, I hold as little counsaile with weake feare, As you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues.

Let it be seene to morrow in the Battell, Which of vs feares