Between that royal field of Shrewsbury Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues [Exit. ACT I. SCENE I. The same. Enter Lord BARDOLPH. L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? Enter Porter, above. Port. What shall I say you are? L. Bard. Where is the earl? Tell thou the earl That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard: Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer. L. Bard. Here comes the earl. [Exit Porter above. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. North. What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now Should be the father of some stratagem: The times are wild; contention, like a horse L. Bard. Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. North. Good, an God will! As good as heart can wish: L. Bard. Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won, Saw North. How is this deriv'd? you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence, A gentleman well bred and of good name, That freely render'd me these news for true. North. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent On Tuesday last to listen after news. L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; And he is furnish'd with no certainties More than he haply may retail from me. Enter TRAVERS. North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you? Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, North. Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Had met ill luck? L. Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what; If my young lord your son have not the day, I'll give my barony: ne'er talk of it. North. Why should the gentleman that rode by Travers Give, then, such instances of loss? L. Bard. Who, he? He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n The horse he rode on; and, upon my life, Spoke at a venture. - Look, here comes more news. Enter MORTON. North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, So looks the strand whereon th' imperious flood Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; North. How doth my son and brother? Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; North. Why, he is dead. He that but fears the thing he would not know That what he fear'd is chancèd. Yet speak, Morton; And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. I see a strange confession in thine eye: Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin The tongue offends not that reports his death: L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. That which I would to God I had not seen; But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, From whence with life he never more sprung up. For from his metal was his party steel'd; And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. In poison there is physic; and these news, Having been well, that would have made me sick, Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch! A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif! Thou art a guard too wanton for the head Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. |