« AnteriorContinuar »
PROLOGU E. Enter Rumour, painted full of Tongues
, of , ?
PEN your ears: for which of you will stop
I from the Orient to the drooping West,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The Adts commenced on this Ball of Earth.
Upon my tongues continual fanders 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 fafety, wounds the world:
And who hut Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence,
Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other griefs,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant War,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by furmises, jealoufies, conjeâures;
And, of so easy and fo 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 houshold? Why is Rumour here?
I run before King Harry's vi&ory;
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
Hath beaten down young Hot-Spur and his troops ;
Quenching the flame of bold Rebellion
Ev'n with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? my office is
To noile abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hot-spur's sword;
And that the King before the Dowglas' 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 Hot-spur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty sick. The Posts come tiring on;
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn'd of me. From Runour's tongues,
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true
KING Henry the Fourth.
Prince Henry, afterwards crowned King Henry the Fifth.
Prince John of Lancaster,
Sons to Henry the Fourth, and Brethren to
Humphrey of Gloucester,
Thomas of Clarence,
Henry the Fifth.
The Archbishop of York,
Oppofits againt King Henry the Fourik.
of the King's Party.
Lord Chief Justice
Shallow and Silence, Country Justices,
Davy, Servant to Shallow.
Phang and Snare, two Serjeants.
Drawers, Beadlos, Grooms, doc.
Enter Lord Bardolph; the Porter at the door.
HO_keeps the gate here, hoa ? where is the
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. Here's the Earl.
North. What news, lord Bardolph? ev'ry minute
Should be the father of some stratagem.
The times are wild: Contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.
Bard. Noble Earl,
I bring you certain news from Shreufbury.
Norih. Good, if heav'n will!
Bard. As good as heart can wish :
The King is almost wounded to the death :
And in the fortune of my
Prince Harry flain outright; and both the Blunts,
Kill'd by the hand of Dowglas: 'young Prince John,
And Westmorland, and Stafford, fled the field,
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
Is prisoner to your son. O, fuch a day,
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won,
Came not till now, to dignify the times,
Since Cæsar's fortunes !
North. How is this derived ? 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
fent On Tuesday last to liften 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.
OW, Travers, what good tidings come
with you? Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevil turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me.
After him came spurring hard A gentlemen, almost fore-spent with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse: He ask'd the way to Chejter; and of him I did demand what news from Shrewsbury. He told me, that Rebellion had ill luck; And that young Harry Percy's Spur was cold.