Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, &c. Rumour, the Presenter. A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue. SCENE England. INDUCTION. Warkworth. Before Northumberland's castle. Rum. Open your ears; for which of you will stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, Among my household? Why is Rumour here? Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops, Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I Between that royal field of Shrewsbury Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues ACT I. SCENE I. The same. Enter Lord BARDOLPH. L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? Enter Porter, above. [Exit. Where is the earl? Port. What shall I say you are? 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, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. 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, Upon mine honour, for a silken point 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. 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? |