learn'd that of me

Prince. No, Ile be sworne, vnlesse you call three fingers
on the Ribbes bare. But sirra, make haste, Percy is already
in the field

Falst. What, is the King encamp'd?
Westm. Hee is, Sir Iohn, I feare wee shall stay too
long

Falst. Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the beginning
of a Feast, fits a dull fighter, and a keene Guest.

Exeunt.


Scoena Tertia.

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, and Vernon.

Hotsp. Wee'le fight with him to Night

Worc. It may not be

Dowg. You giue him then aduantage

Vern. Not a whit

Hotsp. Why say you so? lookes he not for supply?
Vern. So doe wee