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Poins. Stand close! I hear them coming.

[They stand aside.]

Enter the Thieves again.

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day.

An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no

equity stirring. There's no more valour in that Poins than in a wild duck.

[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon

them. THey all run away, and Falstaff, after a blow or

two, runs awasy too, leaving the booty behind them.]

Prince. Your money!

Poins. Villains!

Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse.

The thieves are scattered, and possess'd with fear

So strongly that they dare not meet each other.

Each takes his fellow for an officer.

Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death

And lards the lean earth as he walks along.

Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.

Poins. How the rogue roar'd! Exeunt.

Scene III. Warkworth Castle.

Enter Hotspur solus, reading a letter.

Hot. 'But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to

be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.' He could be

contented- why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears

our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better than he

loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose you undertake

is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a

cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of

this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The purpose

you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain,

the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the

counterpoise of so great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so?

I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you

lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good

plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good

plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot,

very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my

Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the

action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him

with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and

myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen

Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all

their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month,

and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan

rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very

sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay open

all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets

for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action!

Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set

forward to-night.

Enter his Lady.

How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.

Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?

For what offence have I this fortnight been

A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed,

Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee

Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?

Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,

And start so often when thou sit'st alone?

Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks

And given my treasures and my rights of thee

To thick-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy?

In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,

And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,

Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,

Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd

Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tent,

Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,

Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,

And all the currents of a heady fight.

Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,

And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,

That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow

Like bubbles ill a late-disturbed stream,

And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,

Such as we see when men restrain their breath

On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,