Act V, Scene iii:
Plain between the Camps.

[Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the battle. Then enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt, meeting.]

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, and Blunt is slain. Enter Hotspur.]

HOT.:

O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus,

I never had triumphed o'er a Scot.

DOUG.:

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

HOT.:

Where?

DOUG.:

Here.

HOT.:

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.

DOUG.:

A fool go with thy soul, where're it goes!

A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear:

Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king?

HOT.:

The King hath many marching in his coats.

DOUG.:

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

I'll murder all his wardrobe piece by piece,

Until I meet the King.

HOT.:

Up, and away!

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day.

[Exeunt.]

[Alarums. Enter Falstaff.]

FAL.:

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?

[Enter Prince Henry.]

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 unrevenged: I pr'ythee,

Lend me thy sword.

FAL.:

O Hal, I pr'ythee 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 pr'ythee, lend me thy sword.

FAL.:

Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett'st not

my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.

PRINCE.:

Give it me: what, is it in the case?

FAL.:

Ay, Hal. 'Tis hot, 'tis hot: there's that will sack a city.

[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.]

What, is't a time to jest and dally now?

[Throws it at him, and exit.]

FAL.:

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.

[Exit.]