L. Bard. Tell thou the earl That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. Port. His lordship is walked forth into the orchard: Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer. L. Bard. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND Here comes the earl. 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! L. Bard. As good as heart can wish : The king is almost wounded to the death; Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts John, And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John, Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day, So fought, so followed, and so fairly won, Since Cæsar's fortunes. North. How is this derived? Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? A gentleman well bred, and of good name, On Tuesday last to listen after news. L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; And he is furnished 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 turned me back With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed, He asked the way to Chester; and of him North. Ha!-Again. 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, Upon mine honour, for a silken point I'll give my barony: never 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 stolen Spoke at a venture. news. Look, here comes more Enter MORTON North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: So looks the strond whereon the imperious flood Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? North. How doth my son, and brother? Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him half his Troy was burned: But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it. thus; Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas;' Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.' Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! He that but fears the thing he would not know Morton ; Tell thou thy earl his divination lies, And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. I see a strange confession in thine eye : Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin Not he which says the dead is not alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news |