Original Text
*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? DOUGLAS. 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.
Original Text
DOUGLAS. 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.*
Original Text
HOTSPUR. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. DOUGLAS. All's done, all's won. Here breathless lies the King. HOTSPUR. Where? DOUGLAS. Here. HOTSPUR. 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.
Original Text
DOUGLAS. 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? HOTSPUR. The King hath many marching in his coats. DOUGLAS. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, Until I meet the King. HOTSPUR. Up and away! Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. *Exeunt.*
Original Text
*Alarum. Enter Falstaff alone.* FALSTAFF. Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here. Here's no scoring but upon the pate. Soft! Who are you? Sir Walter Blunt. There's honour for you! Here's no vanity! I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too. God keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. I have led my rag-of-muffins where they are pepper'd. There's not three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here?
Original Text
*Enter the Prince.* PRINCE. What, stand'st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword. Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths are yet unreveng'd. I prithee Lend me thy sword. FALSTAFF. O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have paid Percy; I have made him sure. PRINCE. He is indeed, and living to kill thee. I prithee lend me thy sword. FALSTAFF. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. PRINCE. Give it me. What, is it in the case? FALSTAFF. Ay, Hal. 'Tis hot, 'tis hot. There's that will sack a city. *The Prince draws it out and finds it to be a bottle of sack.* PRINCE. What, is it a time to jest and dally now? *He throws the bottle at him. Exit.*
Original Text
FALSTAFF. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so; if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath. Give me life; which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. *Exit.*