What is thy name that in the battle thus

Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek

Upon my head?

Know then my name is Douglas,

And I do haunt thee in the battle thus

Because some tell me that thou art a king.

They tell thee true.

The Lord of Stafford dear today 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.

I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot,

And thou shalt find a king that will revenge

Lord Stafford’s death.

O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,

I never had triumphed upon a Scot.

All’s done, all’s won; here breathless lies the King.

Where?

Here.

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.

A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes!

A borrow’d title hast thou bought too dear.

Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?

The King hath many marching in his coats.

Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats;

I’ll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece,

Until I meet the King.

Up, and away!

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.

Alarums. Enter Falstaff solus.

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 ragamuffins where they are peppered.

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?

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 unrevenged. I prithee

Lend me thy sword.

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.

He is indeed, and living to kill thee.

I prithee, lend me thy sword.

Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett’st not my sword; but

take my pistol, if thou wilt.

Give it me. What, is it in the case?

Ay, Hal, ’tis hot, ’tis hot. There’s that will sack a city.

What, is it a time to jest and dally now?

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 unlooked for, and there’s

an end.