And falling from a hill, he was so bruiz'd
That the pursuers tooke him. At my Tent
The Dowglas is, and I beseech your Grace.
I may dispose of him.

King.

With all my heart.
Prin. Then Brother John of Lancaster,
To you this honourable bounty shall belong :
Go to the Dowglas, and deliver him
Up to his pleasure, ransomlesse and free:

His Valour shewne upon our Crests to day,

Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds,
Even in the bosome of our Adversaries.

King. Then this remaines that we divide our Power.
You Sonne John, and my Cousin Westmerland
Towards Yorke shall bend you, with deerest speed

your

To meet Northumberland, and the Prelate Scroope,
Who (as we heare) are busily in Armes.

My Selfe, and you Sonne Harry will towards Wales,
To fight with Glendower, and the Earle of March.
Rebellion in this Land shall lose his way,

Meeting the Checke of such another day:
And since this Businesse so faire is done,
Let us not leave till all our owne be wonne.

Exeunt.

FINIS

The Second Part of Henry the Fourth, Containing his Death: and the Coronation of King Henry the Fift.

Actus Primus. Scœna Prima.

INDUCTION.

Pen

Enter Rumour.

your Eares: For which of you will stop The vent of Hearing, when loud Rumor speakes? I, from the Orient, to the drooping West (Making the winde my Post-horse) still unfold The Acts commenced on this Ball of Earth. Upon my Tongue, continuall Slanders ride, The which, in every Language, I pronounce, Stuffing the Eares of them with false Reports. I speake of Peace, while covert Enmitie (Under the smile of Safety) wounds the World: And who but Rumour, who but onely I

Make fearfull Musters, and prepar'd Defence,

Whil'st the bigge yeare, swolne with some other griefes,
Is thought with childe, by the sterne Tyrant, Warre,

And no such matter? Rumour, is a Pipe

Blowne by Surmises, Jelousies, Conjectures;
And of so easie, and so plaine a stop,

That the blunt Monster, with uncounted heads,

The still discordant, wavering Multitude,
Can play upon it. But what neede I thus
My well-knowne Body to Anathomize
Among my houshold? Why is Rumour heere!
I run before King Harries victory,

Who in a bloodie field by Shrewsburie

Hath beaten downe yong Hotspurre, and his Troopes,

Quenching the flame of bold Rebellion,

Even with the Rebels blood. But what meane I
To speake so true at first? My Office is

To noyse abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the Wrath of Noble Hotspurres Sword:
And that the King, before the Dowglas Rage
Stoop'd his Annointed head, as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant-Townes,
Betweene the Royall Field of Shrewsburie,
And this Worme-eaten-Hole of ragged Stone,
Where Hotspurres Father, old Northumberland,
Lyes crafty sicke. The Postes come tyring on,

And not a man of them brings other newes

Then they have learn'd of Me. From Rumours Tongues,
They bring smooth-Comforts-false, worse then True-wrongs.

Exit.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Lord Bardolfe, and the Porter.

L. Bar. Who keepes the Gate heere hoa?

Where is the Earle?

Por. What shall I say you are?

Bar.

Tell thou the Earle

That the Lord Bardolfe doth attend him heere.

Por. His Lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard,

Please it your Honor, knocke but at the Gate,

And he himselfe will answer.

L. Bar.

Enter Northumberland.

Heere comes the Earle.

Nor. What newes Lord Bardolfe? Ev'ry minute now Should be the Father of some Stratagem;

The Times are wilde: Contention (like a Horse
Full of high Feeding) madly hath broke loose,

And beares downe all before him.

L. Bar.

Noble Earle,

I bring you certaine newes from Shrewsbury.

Nor. Good, and heaven will.

L. Bar.

As good as heart can wish :

The King is almost wounded to the death:
And in the Fortune of my Lord your Sonne,
Prince Harrie slaine out-right: and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Dowglas. Yong Prince John,
And Westmerland, and Stafford, fled the Field,
And Harrie Monmouth's Brawne (the Hulke Sir John)
Is prisoner to your Sonne. O, such a Day.
(So fought, so follow'd, and so fairely wonne)
Came not, till now, to dignifie the Times

Since Cesars Fortunes.

Nor.

How is this deriv'd?

Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury?

L. Bar. I spake with one (my L.) that came from thence,

A Gentleman well bred, and of good name,

That freely tender'd me these newes for true.

Nor. Heere comes my Servant Travers, whom I sent

On Tuesday last, to listen after Newes.

Enter Travers.

L. Bar. My Lord, I over-rod him on the way,

And he is furnish'd with no certainties,