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INDUCTION.

Rum. Ore

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 sarmises, 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 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;
And that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick: the post comes tiring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn’d of me; From Rumour's tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true
wrongs.

[Exit.

ہونے دادیدن

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, Jord 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!

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 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 : 0, such a day, So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly wou, 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?

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;
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,
Out-rode me. Alter 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 froin Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold:
With that, he gave his able liorse 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,
Slaying no longer question.

what;

North.

Ha!--Again.
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill'luck?
Bard.
My lord, I'll tell

you
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 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 tragic volume:
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.-
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.

How doth my son, and brother?
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,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say,—Your son did thus, and 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,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with—brother, son, and all are dead.

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