Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust? Three knights upon our party slain to day, A noble earl, and many a creature else, Had been alive this hour,
If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne
Betwixt our armies true intelligence.
P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to
This honourable bounty shall belong: Go to the Douglas, and deliver him Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free: His valour shown upon our crests to-day,
Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to; Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds,
And I embrace this fortune patiently,
Since not to be avoided it falls on me.
K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Ver
Even in the bosom of our adversaries.
K. Hen. Then this remains, that we divide our power.
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed,
To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: Myself, and you, son Harry, -will towards Wales, To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March. Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, Meeting the check of such another day: And since this business so fair is done, Let us not leave till all our own be won.
King Henry the Fourth.
Henry, prince of Wales, afterwards
King Henry V.;
Thomas, duke of Clarence;
Travers and Morton, domestics of Northumberland.
Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page.
Poins and Peto, attendants on Prince Henry.
Shallow and Silence, country Justices.
Prince John of Lancaster, afterwards his sons. Davy, servant to Shallow.
(2 Henry V.) duke of Bedford;
Prince Humphrey of Gloster, afterwards
(2 Henry V.) duke of Gloster;
Earl of Warwick;
Earl of Westmoreland;
Gower; Harcourt;
Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench.
A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice.
Earl of Northumberland;
Scroop, archbishop of York;
Lord Mowbray; Lord Hastings;
Lord Bardolph; Sir John Coleville;
Warkworth. Before Northumberland's castle. Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues.
Rum. Open your ears; For which of you will stop
The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks? I, from the orient to the drooping west, Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold The acts commenced on this ball of earth: Upon my tongues continual slanders ride; The which in every language I pronounce, Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. I speak of peace, while covert enmity, Under the smile of safety, wounds the world: And who but Rumour, who but only I, Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence; Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other grief, Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures; And of so easy and so plain a stop,
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it. But what need I thus My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumour here? I run before king Harry's victory; Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I To speak so true at first? my 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.
(1) Northumberland's castle.
Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullealf, re
And, in the fortune of my lord your son, Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts Kil'd by the hand of Douglas; young prince John, And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the held; 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!
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? Bard, I spake with one, my lord, that came from
A gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me these news for true.
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue, This thou wouldst say,-Your son did thus, and And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. thus;
Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas; Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds; But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed, Ending with-brother, son, and all, are dead. Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet: But, for my lord your son,-- North.
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! Why, he is dead.
Worth. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
On Tuesday last to listen after news,
Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties, More than he haply may retain from me.
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: 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 : With that, he gave his able horse the head, And, bending forward, struck his armed heels Against the panting sides of his poor jade Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so, He seem'd in running to devour the way, Staving no longer question.
Sid he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Or Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion Had met ill luck?
My lord, I'll tell you what;
If my young lord your son has not the day, Upon mine honour, for a silken point
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, 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. 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, Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, I see a strange confession in thine eye: To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: The tongue offends not, that reports his death: Not he, which says the dead is not alive. And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead; Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remember'd knolling a departed friend.
Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead, Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe That, which I would to heaven I had not seen: But these mine eves saw him in bloody state, Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd, To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat down The never-daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he never more sprung up. In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire Being bruited once, took fire and heat away Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) From the best temper'd courage in his troops: For from his metal was his party steel'd; Which once in him abated, all the rest
North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
Give then such instances of loss?
He was some hilding sellow, that had stol'n Who, he? The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
And as the thing that's heavy in itself, Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed; So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Speke at a venture. Look, here comes more news, Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
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 Hath left a witness'd usurpation.4- 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. North. Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
How doth my son, and brother?
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Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, 'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame Had three times slain the appearance of the king, Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all Of those that turn'd their backs; and, in his flight, Is, that the king hath won; and hath sent out A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, And Westmoreland: this is the news in full. Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
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, Being sick, have in some measure made me well: And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
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