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WARKWORTH. Before NORTHUMBERLAND's Castle. Enter Rumour, painted full of Tongues.
Pen your ears; for which of you will stop The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks? 1, 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 safely, wounds the world: And who but Rumour, who but only I, Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence; Whilst the big year, swoln 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 bluni monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it. But wbat 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 rebels' 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;
SCENE 1. The same. The Porter before the Gate; Enter LORD BARDOLPH.
Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho?–Where is the Porter. What shall I say you are?
[ear) ? Bard.
Tell thou the ear), That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
Porter. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard; Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Bard.
Here comes the earl. North. What news, lord Bardolph ? every minute Should be the father of some stratagem: [now The times are wild; contention, like a horse Full of high-feediny, madly hath broke loose, And bears down all before him. Bard.
Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, an heaven will !
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 Killd 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 limes, 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 A gentleman well bred, and of good name, (thence; 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;
After him, came, spurring-bard,
My lord, I'll tell you what;-
my young lord, your son, has not the day,
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
How doth my son, and brother?