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 prepared defence

Whiles 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 surmises, Jealousy’s conjectures,

And of so easy and so plain a stop

That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,

The still-discordant wav’ring 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

Stooped his anointed head as low as death.

This have I rumoured through the peasant towns

Between that royal field of Shrewsbury

And this worm-eaten hold of raggèd 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 learnt of me. From Rumour’s

tongues

They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true

wrongs. Exit

1.1 Enter Lord Bardolph at one door. ⌈He crosses the stage to another door⌉

LORD BARDOLPH

Who keeps the gate here, ho?

Enter Porter ⌈above⌉

Where is the Earl?

PORTER

What shall I say you are?

LORD BARDOLPH Tell thou the Earl

That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

PORTER

His lordship is walked forth into the orchard.

Please it your honour knock but at the gate,

And he himself will answer.

Enter the Earl Northumberland ⌈at the other door⌉, as sick, with a crutch and coif

LORD BARDOLPH Here comes the Earl.

⌈Exit Porter⌉

NORTHUMBERLAND

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.

LORD BARDOLPH Noble Earl,

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Good, an God will.

LORD BARDOLPH 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

Killed by the hand of Douglas; 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, such a day,

So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,

Came not till now to dignify the times

Since Caesar’s fortunes!

NORTHUMBERLAND How is this derived?

Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury?

LORD BARDOLPH

I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,

A gentleman well bred and of good name,

That freely rendered me these news for true.

Enter Travers

NORTHUMBERLAND

Here comes my servant Travers, who I sent

On Tuesday last to listen after news.

LORD BARDOLPH

My lord, I overrode him on the way,

And he is furnished with no certainties

More than he haply may retail from me.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?

TRAVERS

My lord, Lord Bardolph turned me back

With joyful tidings, and being better horsed

Outrode me. After him came spurring hard

A gentleman almost forspent with speed,

That stopped by me to breathe his bloodied horse.

He asked 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 seemed in running to devour the way,

Staying no longer question.

NORTHUMBERLAND Ha? Again:

Said he young Harry Percy’s spur was cold?

Of Hotspur, ‘Coldspur’ ? that rebellion

Had met ill luck?

LORD BARDOLPH 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.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Why should the gentleman that rode by Travers

Give then such instances of loss?

LORD BARDOLPH Who, he?

He was some hilding fellow that had stol’n

The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,

Spoke at a venture.

Enter Morton

Look, here comes more news.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Yea, this man’s brow, like to a title leaf,