LORD BARDOLPH. Here comes the Earl. Exit PORTER NORTHUMBERLAND. What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now Should be the father of some stratagem. The times are wild; contention, like a horse Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose And bears down all before him. LORD BARDOLPH. Noble Earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. NORTHUMBERLAND. Good, an God will! LORD BARDOLPH. As good as heart can wish. The King is almost wounded to the death; And, in the fortune of my lord your son, Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John, And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John, Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day, So fought, so followed, and so fairly won, Came not till now to dignify the times, Since Cxsar's fortunes! NORTHUMBERLAND. How is this deriv'd? Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury? LORD BARDOLPH. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence; A gentleman well bred and of good name, That freely rend'red me these news for true. Enter TRAVERS NORTHUMBERLAND. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent On Tuesday last to listen after news. LORD BARDOLPH. 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. NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you? TRAVERS. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. He ask'd 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 seem'd in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question. NORTHUMBERLAND. Ha! Again: Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Of Hotspur, Coldspur? that rebellion Had met ill luck? LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I'll tell you what: If my young lord your son have not the day, Upon mine honour, for a silken point I'll give my barony. Never talk of it. NORTHUMBERLAND. Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers Give then such instances of loss? LORD BARDOLPH. Who--he? He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n The horse he rode on and, upon my life, Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. Enter Morton