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That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
But what need I thus
office is To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword, And that the king before the Douglas' rage Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns Between that royal field of Shrewsbury And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on, And not a man of them brings other news Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's
tongues They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs.
ACT THE FIRST.
Enter LORD BARDOLPH.
Where is the earl ? Port. What shall I say you are ? L. BARD.
Tell thou the earl That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
PORT. His lordshipis walk'd forth into the orchard: Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. L. BARD
Here comes the earl.
[Exit Porter. NORTH. What news, Lord Bardolph ? every
NORTH, Good, an God will!
As good as heart can wish:
Kill’d by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John
How is this derived ?
with you? Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed, Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him I did demand what news from Shrewsbury: He told me that rebellion had bad luck
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
Ha! Again :
My lord, I'll tell you what; If my young
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 that gentleman that rode
by Travers Give then such instances of loss ? L. Bard.
Who, he ? He was some hilding fellow that had stolen 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, Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood Hath left a witness'd usurpation. Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord ; Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
To fright our party.
How doth my son and brother?
your son, NORTH.
Why, he is dead. See what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton; Tell thou an earl his divination lies, 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