THE SECOND PART OF

KING HENRY THE FOURTH

INDUCTION

Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND's Castle.

Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues.

Open your ears; for which of you will stop
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
I, 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 safety wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence,
Whiles 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 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 1

To speak so true at first? my office is

To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth feil
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 posts come 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
Exit.

wrongs.

ACT I

SCENE I.-Warkworth. Before Northumberland's

Castle.

Enter Lord BARDOLPH.

L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here? ho!

The Porter opens the gate.

Port. What shall I say you are?

L. Bard.

Where is the earl?

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.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

L. Bard.

Here comes the earl.
Exit Porter.

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
And bears down all before him.

L. Bard.

Noble earl,

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

North. Good, an God will!

L. Bard.

function I organies

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
Kill'd 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 times,
Since Cæsar's fortunes.

North.

How is this deriv'd?

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?

L. 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.

L. 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. 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; 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. With that he gave his able horse 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, Staying no longer question.

North.

Ha! Again:

Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur, Coldspur? that rebellion

Had met ill luck?

L. 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?

L. Bard.

Who, he?

He was some hilding fellow that had stolen

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, Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:

So looks the strand 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.'
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

Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes

That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton :

Tell thou thy earl his divination lies,

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;