in us. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it; Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the king, And, nephew, challenged you to single fight. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads, And that no man might draw short breath today But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt? No, by my soul; I never in my life Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms. He gave you all the duties of a man; Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue, Spoke to your deservings like a chronicle, Making you ever better than his praise By still dispraising praise valued in you; And, which became him like a prince indeed, He made a blushing cital of himself; And chid his truant youth with such a grace As if he master'd there a double spirit. Of teaching and of learning instantly. There did he pause: but let me tell the world, If he outlive the envy of this day, England did never owe so sweet a hope, So much misconstrued in his wantonness. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured On his follies: never did I hear Of any prince so wild a libertine. But be he as he will, yet once ere night I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, That he shall shrink under my courtesy. Arm, arm with speed: and, fellows, soldiers, friends, Better consider what you have to do Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, Can lift your blood up with persuasion. My lord, here are letters for you. I cannot read them now. O gentlemen, the time of life is short! To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour. An if we live, we live to tread on kings; If die, brave death, when princes die with us! Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, For I profess not talking; only this-- Let each man do his best: and here draw I A sword, whose temper I intend to stain With the best blood that I can meet