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P R O L O G U E. Enter Rumour, painted full of Tongues. PEN ears:
you 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 Adts commenced on this Ball of Earth. Upon my tongues continual flanders 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 fafety, wounds the world: And who hut Rumour, who but only I, Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence, Whilst 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 furmises, jealoufies, conjeâures; And, of so easy and fo 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 houshold? Why is Rumour here? I run before King Harry's vi&ory; Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury Hath beaten down young Hot-Spur and his troops ; Quenching the flame of bold Rebellion Ev'n 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 Hot-spur's sword;
And that the King before the Dowglas' rage
KING Henry the Fourth.
Sons to Henry the Fourth, and Brethren to
Henry the Fifth
Oppofits againt King Henry the Fourik.
of the King's Party,
Drawers, Beadlos, Grooms, doc.
Enter Lord Bardolph; the Porter at the door.
WH ° Earl
Bard. Tell thou the Earl,
Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard;
Bard. Noble Earl,
Norih. Good, if heav'n will!
The King is almost wounded to the death :
North. How is this derived ? Saw you the field ? came you from Shrewsbury? 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
fent On Tuesday last to liften after news. 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.
OW, Travers, what good tidings come
with you? Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevil turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me.
After him came spurring hard A gentlemen, almost fore-spent with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse: He ask'd the way to Chejter; 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.