1. Scene I. The King's Camp near Shrewsbury.
I would it were bedtime, Hal, and all well.
Why, thou owest God a death.
'Tis not due yet; I would be loth 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 honor 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 be hear it? no. Is it
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.