Dramatis Perfonæ.

KING Henry the Fourth.

Prince Henry, afterwards crowned King Henry the Fifth.

Prince John of Lancaster,

Humphrey of Gloucester,

Thomas of Clarence,
Northumberland,

The Archbishop of York,

Mowbray,

Haftings,

Lord Bardolph,

Sons to Henry the Fourth, and Brethren to

Henry the Fifth.

Oppofits against King Henry the Fourth.

The SECOND PART of

HE NRY

IV.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Northumberland's Caftle.

Enter Lord Bardolph; the Porter at the door.

BARDOLPH.

HO keeps the gate here, hoa? where is the
Earl?

WHO

Port. What shall I fay you are?

Bard. Tell thou the Earl,

That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard; Please it your Honour, knock but at the

And he himself will answer.

gate

Enter Northumberland.

Bard. Here's the Earl.

North. What news, lord Bardolph? ev'ry minute.

now

Should be the father of fome ftratagem.

The times are wild: Contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.

Bard. Noble Earl,

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, if heav'n will !

Bard. As good as heart can wish:

F 4

The

The King is almoft wounded to the death:
And in the fortune of my lord your fon,
Prince Harry flain outright; and both the Blunts,
Kill'd by the hand of Dowglas: young Prince John,
And Westmorland, and Stafford, fled the field,
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
Is prifoner to your fon. O, fuch a day,
So fought, fo follow'd, and fo fairly won,
Came not till now, to dignify the times,
Since Cæfar's fortunes!

North. How is this derived?

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?
Bard. I fpake 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 fervant Travers, whom I

fent

On Tuesday laft 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.

North.

SCENE

Enter Travers.

II.

OW, Travers, what good tidings come

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 flopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse: He afk'd the way to Chefter; 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, ftruck his agile heels
Against the panting fides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and, ftarting fo,
He feem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.

North. Ha? again:

Said he, young Harry Percy's fpur was cold?

Rebellion had ill luck?

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you;

If my young Lord your fon have not the day,
Upon mine Honour, for a filken point

I'll give my Barony. Ne'er talk of it.

North. Why fhould the gentleman, that rode by
Travers.

Give then fuch inftances of lofs?

Bard. Who he?

He was fome hilding fellow, that had ftoll'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spake at adventure.

Look, here comes more news.

North. Foretels the Nature of a tragic volume:

So looks the ftrond, whereon th' imperious flood
Hath left a witnefs'd ufurpation.

Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mort. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord,
Where hateful death put on his ugliest Mask
To fright our Party.

North. How doth my fon, and Brother?
Thou trembleft; and the whitenefs in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even fuch a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, fo dead in look, fo woe-be-gone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
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And

And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue;
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou would'ft say: your Son did thus, and thus:
Your brother, thus: fo fought the noble Dowglas:
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds.
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou haft a figh to blow away this praife,
Ending with brother, fon, and all are dead!
Mort. Dowglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But for my lord your fon

North. Why, he is dead.

See, what a ready tongue fufpicion hath!

He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by inftinct, knowledge from other's eyes,
That what he fear'd is chanc'd. Yet, Morton, fpeak:
Tell thou thy Earl, his Divination lies;
And I will take it as a fweet Difgrace,

And make thee rich for doing me fuch wrong.
Mort. You are too Great to be by me gainsaid:
Your fpirit is too true, your fears too certain.

North. Yet for all this, fay not, that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confeffion in thine eye:
Thou fhak'ft thy head, and hold'ft it fear, or fin,
To speak a truth. If he be flain, fay fo:
The tongue offends not, that reports his death:
And he doth fin, that doth belie the dead,
Not he, which fays the dead is not alive.
Yet the firft bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a lofing office: and his tongue.
Sounds ever after as a fullen bell,
Remember'd, tolling a departing friend.

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your fon is dead. Mort. I'm forry, I fhould force you to believe That, which, I would to heav'n, I had not seen. But thefe mine eyes faw him in bloody ftate, Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd, To Henry Monmouth; whofe fwift wrath beat down

The