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 vs not leaue till all our owne be wonne.

Exeunt.

FINIS. The First Part of Henry the Fourth, with the Life and Death of HENRY Sirnamed HOT-SPVRRE.

The Second Part of Henry the Fourth

Containing his Death: and the Coronation of King Henry the Fift

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

INDVCTION.

Enter Rumour.

Open 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 vnfold The Acts commenced on this Ball of Earth.

Vpon my Tongue, continuall Slanders ride, The which, in euery Language, I p.r.o.nounce, Stuffing the Eares of them with false Reports: I speake of Peace, while couert Enmitie (Vnder 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, Ielousies, Coniectures; And of so easie, and so plaine a stop, That the blunt Monster, with vncounted heads, The still discordant, wauering Mult.i.tude, Can play vpon 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, Euen with the Rebels blood. But what meane I To speake so true at first? My Office is To noyse abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell Vnder the Wrath of n.o.ble Hotspurres Sword: And that the King, before the Dowglas Rage Stoop'd his Annointed head, as low as death.

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

Enter.

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.

Enter Northumberland.

L.Bar. Heere comes the Earle

Nor. What newes Lord Bardolfe? Eu'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. n.o.ble Earle, I bring you certaine newes from Shrewsbury

Nor. Good, and heauen 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 Iohn, And Westmerland, and Stafford, fled the Field.

And Harrie Monmouth's Brawne (the Hulke Sir Iohn) 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 Caesars Fortunes

Nor. How is this deriu'd?

Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury?

L.Bar. I spake with one (my L[ord].) that came fro[m] thence, A Gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me these newes for true

Nor. Heere comes my Seruant Trauers, whom I sent On Tuesday last, to listen after Newes.

Enter Trauers.

L.Bar. My Lord, I ouer-rod him on the way, And he is furnish'd with no certainties, More then he (haply) may retaile from me

Nor. Now Trauers, what good tidings comes fro[m] you?

Tra. My Lord, Sir Iohn Vmfreuill turn'd me backe With ioyfull tydings; and (being better hors'd) Out-rod me. After him, came spurring head A Gentleman (almost fore-spent with speed) That stopp'd by me, to breath his bloodied horse.

He ask'd the way to Chester: And of him I did demand what Newes from Shrewsbury: He told me, that Rebellion had ill lucke, And that yong Harry Percies Spurre was cold.

With that he gaue his able Horse the head, And bending forwards strooke his able heeles Against the panting sides of his poore Iade Vp to the Rowell head, and starting so, He seem'd in running, to deuoure the way, Staying no longer question

North. Ha? Againe: Said he yong Harrie Percyes Spurre was cold?

(Of Hot-Spurre, cold-Spurre?) that Rebellion, Had met ill lucke?

L.Bar. My Lord: Ile tell you what, If my yong Lord your Sonne, haue not the day, Vpon mine Honor, for a silken point Ile giue my Barony. Neuer talke of it

Nor. Why should the Gentleman that rode by Trauers Giue then such instances of Losse?

L.Bar. Who, he?

He was some hielding Fellow, that had stolne The Horse he rode-on: and vpon my life Speake at aduenture. Looke, here comes more Newes.

Enter Morton.

Nor. Yea, this mans brow, like to a t.i.tle-leafe, Fore-tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume: So lookes the Strond, when the Imperious Flood Hath left a witnest Vsurpation.

Say Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury?

Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury (my n.o.ble Lord) Where hatefull death put on his vgliest Maske To fright our party

North. How doth my Sonne, and Brother?

Thou trembl'st; and the whitenesse in thy Cheeke Is apter then thy Tongue, to tell thy Errand.

Euen such a man, so faint, so spiritlesse, So dull, so dead in looke, so woe-be-gone, Drew Priams Curtaine, in the dead of night, And would haue told him, Halfe his Troy was burn'd.

But Priam found the Fire, ere he his Tongue: And I, my Percies death, ere thou report'st it.

This, thou would'st say: Your Sonne did thus, and thus: Your Brother, thus. So fought the n.o.ble Dowglas, Stopping my greedy eare, with their bold deeds.

But in the end (to stop mine Eare indeed) Thou hast a Sigh, to blow away this Praise, Ending with Brother, Sonne, and all are dead

Mor. Dowglas is liuing, and your Brother, yet: But for my Lord, your Sonne

North. Why, he is dead.

See what a ready tongue Suspition hath: He that but feares the thing, he would not know, Hath by Instinct, knowledge from others Eyes, That what he feard, is chanc'd. Yet speake (Morton) Tell thou thy Earle, his Diuination 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: Your Spirit is too true, your Feares too certaine

North. Yet for all this, say not that Percies dead.

I see a strange Confession in thine Eye: Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it Feare, or Sinne, To speake a truth. If he be slaine, say so: The Tongue offends not, that reports his death: And he doth sinne that doth belye the dead: Not he, which sayes the dead is not aliue: Yet the first bringer of vnwelcome Newes Hath but a loosing Office: and his Tongue, Sounds euer after as a sullen Bell Remembred, knolling a departing Friend

L.Bar. I cannot thinke (my Lord) your son is dead

Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to beleeue That, which I would to heauen, I had not seene.

But these mine eyes, saw him in b.l.o.o.d.y state, Rend'ring faint quittance (wearied, and out-breath'd) To Henrie Monmouth, whose swift wrath beate downe The neuer-daunted Percie to the earth, From whence (with life) he neuer more sprung vp.

In few; his death (whose spirit lent a fire, Euen to the dullest Peazant in his Campe) Being bruited once, tooke fire and heate away From the best temper'd Courage in his Troopes.