• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Here comes your cousin.

Hot. My uncle is return'd.

Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland.

Uncle, what news?

Wor. The King will bid you battle presently.

Doug. Defy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland.

Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.

Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly.

Exit.

Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King.

Hot. Did you beg any, God forbid!

Wor. I told him gently of our grievances,

Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,

By now forswearing that he is forsworn.

He calls us rebels, traitors, aid will scourge

With haughty arms this hateful name in us.

Enter Douglas.

Doug. Arm, gentlemen! to arms! for I have thrown

A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth,

And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it;

Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.

Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the King

And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight.

Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads,

And that no man might draw short breath to-day

But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me,

How show'd his tasking? Seem'd it in contempt?

No, by my soul. I never in my life

Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly,

Unless a brother should a brother dare

To gentle exercise and proof of arms.

He gave you all the duties of a man;

Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue;

Spoke your deservings like a chronicle;

Making you ever better than his praise

By still dispraising praise valued with you;

And, which became him like a prince indeed,

He made a blushing cital of himself,

And chid his truant youth with such a grace

As if lie mast'red there a double spirit

Of teaching and of learning instantly.

There did he pause; but let me tell the world,

If he outlive the envy of this day,

England did never owe so sweet a hope,

So much misconstrued in his wantonness.

Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured

Upon his follies. Never did I hear

Of any prince so wild a libertine.

But be he as he will, yet once ere night

I will embrace him with a soldier's arm,

That he shall shrink under my courtesy.

Arm, arm with speed! and, fellows, soldiers, friends,

Better consider what you have to do

Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,

Can lift your blood up with persuasion.

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.