SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 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? Tell thou the earl, Bard. Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the or chard; Please it your honour, knock but at the gatc, 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: * Important or dreadful event. Bard. Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. Bard. As good as heart can wish: The king is almost wounded to the death; 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, 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 retain 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: He ask'd the way to Chester; aud of him I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. He told me, that rebellion had bad luck, • Exhausted. And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold: North. Ha! Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Had met ill luck! Bard. 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. North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Travers, Give then such instances of loss? Bard. Who, he? He was some hildingt fellow, that had stol'n Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. Enter Morton. North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? North. So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, * Lace tagged. + Hilderling, base, cowardly. Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. This thou would'st say,-Your son did thus, and thus; Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas; - 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 make thee rich for doing me such wrong. Remember'd knolling a departing 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 eyes saw him in bloody state, Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd, Return of blows. To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat down From whence with life he never more sprung up. Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed; North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. Out of his keepers' arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves; hence therefore, thou nices crutch; |