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