SUMMARY
{In the first part, Falstaff, alone, responds to the Prince's
advice to prepare for an imminent death. In the second
part, alone again after a furious battle, Falstaff, after
feigning death, rises next to the fallen Hotspur.}
'Tis not due yet: I would be loath to
pay him before his day. What need I be so
forward with him that calls not on me? Well,
'tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but
how if honour prick me off when I come on?
how then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an
arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound?
No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No.
What is honour? a word. What is that word,
honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it?
he that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it?
No. Doth he hear it? No. It is insensible
then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live
with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not
suffer it. Therefore I'll none of it: honour is a
mere scutcheon; and so ends my catechism.
[Exit.]
...Act V Scene 4...
...Counterfeit? I lie, I am
no counterfeit: to die, is to be a counterfeit; for
he is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not
the life of a man; but to counterfeit dying, when
a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but
the true and perfect image of life indeed. The
better part of valour is discretion; in the which
better part, I have saved my life. 'Zounds! I
am afraid of this gunpowder Percy though he
be dead: how, if he should counterfeit too and
rise? By my faith I am afraid he would prove
the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him
sure; yea, and I'll swear I killed him. Why may
not he rise as well as I? Nothing confutes me
but eyes, and nobody sees me: therefore, sirrah
[stabbing him], with a new wound in your thigh
come you along with me.
[Exit, carrying Hotspur on his back]
