INDUCTION. Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle. Enter RUMOUR, painted full of Tongues. Rum. Open your ears; for which of you will stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, Can play upon it. But what need I thus Among my household? Why is Rumour here? Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I To noise abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. [Exit. ACT I. SCENE I. The Same. The Porter before the Gate; Enter Lord BARDOLPH. Bard. Who keeps the gate here? ho! Where is the earl? Port. What shall I say you are? Bard. 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. 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, Bard. Noble earl, As good as heart can wish. The king is almost wounded to the death, Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young prince John, Since Cæsar's fortunes. North. How is this deriv'd? Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? 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. 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, And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. North. Ha! Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? 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 that gentleman, that rode by Travers, Give, then, such instances of loss? 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 strond, whereon th' imperious flood Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? To fright our party. How doth my son and brother? Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: ere he his tongue, ere thou report'st it. But Priam found the fire, Ending with brother, son, and all are dead. Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; But for my lord your son, North. Why, he is dead. See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He that but fears the thing he would not know, 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. I see a strange confession in thine eye: Thou shak'st thy head; and hold'st it fear, or sin, The tongue offends not, that reports his death; Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. From whence with life he never more sprung up. |