Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, here are letters for you.
Hot. I cannot read them now.-
O gentlemen, the time of life is short!
To spend that shortness basely were too long
If life did ride upon a dial's point,
Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
An if we live, we live to tread on kings;
If die, brave death, when princes die with us!
Now for our consciences, the arms are fair,
When the intent of bearing them is just.
Enter another Messenger.
Mess. My lord, prepare. The King comes on apace.
Hot. I thank him that he cuts me from my tale,
For I profess not talking. Only this-
Let each man do his best; and here draw I
A sword whose temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal
In the adventure of this perilous day.
Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on.
Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
And by that music let us all embrace;
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesy.
Here they embrace. The trumpets sound.
[Exeunt.]
Scene III. Plain between the camps.
The King enters with his Power. Alarum to the battle. Then enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus
Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek
Upon my head?
Doug. Know then my name is Douglas,
And I do haunt thee in the battle thus
Because some tell me that thou art a king.
Blunt. They tell thee true.
Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought
Thy likeness; for instead of thee, King Harry,
This sword hath ended him. So shall it thee,
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.
Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot;
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death.
They fight. Douglas kills Blunt. Then enter Hotspur.
Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot.
Doug. All's done, all's won. Here breathless lies the King.
Hot. Where?
Doug. Here.
Hot. This, Douglas? No. I know this face full well.
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt;
Semblably furnish'd like the King himself.
Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes!
A borrowed title hast thou bought too dear:
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?
Hot. The King hath many marching in his coats.
Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;
I'll murder all his wardrop, piece by piece,
Until I meet the King.
Hot. Up and away!
Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.
Exeunt.
Alarum. Enter Falstaff solus.