Can play upon it. But what need I thus Among my household? Why is rumor here? Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I wrongs. ACT I. SCENE I. The same. The Porter before the Gate. Enter LORD BARDOLPH. Bardolph. 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 walked forth into the orchard. 1 Northumberland's castle. Please it your honor, knock but at the gate, Bard. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Here comes the earl. North. What news, lord Bardolph? Every minute now Should be the father of some stratagem; Bard. As good as heart can wish. your son, The king is almost wounded to the death; North. How is this derived? Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury? A gentleman well-bred, and of good name, sent On Tuesday last to listen after news. Bard. My lord, I overrode him on the way; And he is furnished 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 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 bad 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. Ha! North. 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 what; If my young lord your son have not the day, Upon mine honor, for a silken point 2 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 3 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; 1 Exhausted. 2 A silken point is a tagged lace. 3 i. e. Hilderling, base, low fellow. So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? 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 burned; 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. He, that but fears the thing he would not know, 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; Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. I see a strange confession in thine eye; Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so. The tongue offends not, that reports his death; And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. From whence with life he never more sprung up. 1 The bell anciently was rung before the dying person had expired, and thence was called the passing bell. 2 To vail is to lower, to cast down. |