Enter HOTSPUR. Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. | |
| Prince. Thou speak’st as if I would deny my name. | |
| Hot. My name is Harry Percy. | |
| Prince. Why, then I see | |
| A very valiant rebel of the name. | 5 |
| I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, | |
| To share with me in glory any more: | |
| Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere; | |
| Nor can one England brook a double reign, | |
| Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. | 10 |
| Hot. Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come | |
| To end the one of us; and would to God | |
| Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! | |
| Prince. I’ll make it greater ere I part from thee; | |
| And all the budding honours on thy crest | 15 |
| I’ll crop, to make a garland for my head. | |
| Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. [They fight. | |
| |
Enter FALSTAFF. Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boy’s play here, I can tell you. | |
| |
Re-enter DOUGLAS; he fights with FALSTAFF, who falls down as if he were dead, and exit DOUGLAS. HOTSPUR is wounded, and falls. Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb’d me of my youth! | |
| I better brook the loss of brittle life | 20 |
| Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; | |
| They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh: | |
| But thought’s the slave of life, and life time’s fool; | |
| And time, that takes survey of all the world, | |
| Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, | 25 |
| But that the earthy and cold hand of death | |
| Lies on my tongue; no, Percy, thou art dust, | |
| And food for— [Dies. | |
| Prince. For worms, brave Percy: fare thee well, great heart! | |
| Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk! | 30 |
| When that this body did contain a spirit, | |
| A kingdom for it was too small a bound; | |
| But now two paces of the vilest earth | |
| Is room enough: this earth that bears thee dead | |
| Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. | 35 |
| If thou wert sensible of courtesy, | |
| I should not make so dear a show of zeal: | |
| But let my favours hide thy mangled face; | |
| And, even in thy behalf, I’ll thank myself | |
| For doing these fair rites of tenderness. | 40 |
| Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! | |
| Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, | |
| But not remember’d in thy epitaph! | |
| |
