I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
A gentleman well bred and of good name,
render'd me these news for true.
Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties
More than he haply may retail
Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?
My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,
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:
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
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer
Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill
My lord, I'll tell you what;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.
Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
Give then such instances of loss?
He was some hilding fellow that had stolen
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
Spoke at a
venture. Look, here comes more news.
Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strand whereon
the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
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