Alarum, and enter Falstaff, solus.
Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at
London, I fear the shot here; here's no scoring
but upon the pate. Soft! who art thou? 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? 40
Enter the Prince.
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 unreveng'd: prithee, lend me thy sword. 44
Fal. 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. 48
Prince. He is indeed; and living to kill thee.
I prithee, 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. 53
Prince. Give it me. What! is it in the case?
Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot: there's that
will sack a city.
30 shot-free: without having to pay
46 Turk Gregory; cf. n.
