I run before king Harry's victory; Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, Than they have learn'd of me; From Rumour's tongues They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. [Exit. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT I. SCENE I. THE SAME. The Porter before the gate; Enter Lord Bardolph. L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho?—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 lordship is walk'd forth into the or chard; 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 Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, L. Bard. Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. North, Good, an heaven will! L. Bard. As good as heart can wish:The king is almost wounded to the death; And, in the fortune of my lord your son, Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince 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 follow'd, and so fairly won, Came not, till now, to dignify the times, Since Cæsar's fortunes! North. How is this deriv'd? Saw 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, 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 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, Foretels the nature of a tragick volume: So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood Say, Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury? North. How doth my son, and brother? So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, thus; Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas; 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, |