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