3. Scene III. Plain between the Camps.
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.]
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.
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.
He is indeed; and living to kill thee.
I pr'ythee, 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.
[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.]
What, is't a time to jest and dally now?
[Throws it at him, and exit.]
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.