Whilst in the battle of _Shrewsbury_ he is exhorting and encouraging the Prince who is engaged with the _Spirit Percy_—“_Well said Hal, to him Hal_,”—he is himself attacked by the _Fiend Douglas_. There was no match; nothing remained but death or stratagem; grinning honour, or laughing life. But an expedient offers, a mirthful one,—Take your choice _Falstaff_, a point of honour, or a point of drollery.—It could not be a question;—_Falstaff_ falls, _Douglas_ is cheated, and the world laughs. But does he fall like a Coward? No, like a buffoon only; the superior principle prevails, and _Falstaff_ lives by a stratagem growing out of his character, to prove himself _no counterfeit_, to jest, to be employed, and to fight again. That _Falstaff_ valued himself, and expected to be valued by others, upon this piece of saving wit, is plain. It was a stratagem, it is true; it argued presence of mind; but it was moreover, what he most liked, a very laughable joke; and as such he considers it; for he continues to counterfeit after the danger is over, that he may also deceive the Prince, and improve the event into more laughter. He might, for ought that appears, have concealed the transaction; the Prince was too earnestly engaged for observation; he might have formed a thousand excuses for his fall; but he lies still and listens to the pronouncing of his epitaph by the Prince with all the waggish glee and levity of his character. The circumstance of his wounding _Percy_ in the thigh, and carrying the dead body on his back like luggage, is _indecent_ but not cowardly. The declaring, though in jest, that he killed _Percy_, seems to me _idle_, but it is not meant or calculated for _imposition_; it is spoken to the _Prince himself_, the man in the world who could not be, or be supposed to be, imposed on. But we must hear, whether to the purpose or not, what it is that _Harry_ has to say over the remains of his old friend. _P. Hen._ What, old acquaintance! could not all this flesh Keep in a little life? Poor _Jack_, farewell! I could have better spared a better man. Oh! I shou’d have a heavy miss of thee, If I were much in love with vanity. Death hath not struck so fat a _deer_ to-day, Tho’ many a _dearer_ in this bloody fray; Imbowelled will I see thee by and by; Till then, in blood by noble _Percy_ lye.