Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

  I speak of peace while covert enmity

  10

  Under the smile of safety wounds the world.

  And who but Rumor, who but only I,

  Make fearful musters and prepared defense,

  Whiles the big year, swoll’n with some other grief,

  Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,

  15

  And no such matter? Rumor is a pipe

  Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,

  And of so easy and so plain a stop

  That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,

  The still-discordant wav’ring multitude,

  20

  Can play upon it. But what need I thus

  My well-known body to anatomize

  Among my household? Why is Rumor here?

  I run before King Harry’s victory,

  Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury

  25

  Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,

  Quenching the flame of bold rebellion

  Even with the rebels’ blood. But what mean I

  To speak so true at first? My office is

  To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell

  30

  Under the wrath of noble Hotspur’s sword,

  And that the King before the Douglas’ rage

  Stooped his anointed head as low as death.

  This have I rumored through the peasant towns

  Between that royal field of Shrewsbury

  35

  And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,

  Where Hotspur’s father, old Northumberland,

  Lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on,

  And not a man of them brings other news

  Than they have learnt of me. From Rumor’s tongues

  40

  They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs.

  Exit

  PROLOGUE

  Modern Text

  RUMOR enters, wearing a costume covered with painted tongues.

  RUMOR

  Open your ears! For who could possibly block them when loud Rumor speaks? I make the wind my horse, and ride it from the Orient in the east to the place where the sun sets in the west, describing the events taking place in the world. I continually tell lies and I tell them in every language, stuffing men’s ears with falsehoods. I say that things are peaceful when, in reality, concealed hatred is at work, hidden behind smiles of good will.

  And who but Rumor—who besides me—can make armies prepare anxious defenses, when in fact the world is uneasy for other reasons and there’s no war coming at all? Rumor is like a flute. Guesswork, suspicion, and speculation are the breath that makes it sound, and it’s so easy to play that even the common masses—that dim monster with innumerable heads, forever clamoring and wavering—can play it. But why should I describe myself in such detail to the one group of people who knows exactly what falsehood is all about: a theater audience? Why am I here?

  King Henry has won the war, and at Shrewsbury, he ended the rebellion against him by defeating Hotspur and his allies, quenching the fire of revolt with the rebels’ own blood. But what am I doing, telling you the truth up front? My job is to spread word that Hotspur in his fury killed Prince Hal, and that Douglas killed the King. I’ve spread this rumor through all the peasant villages from Shrewsbury to the place where I now stand: in front of the worm-eaten, dilapidated castle of Northumberland, Hotspur’s father, who lies within and pretends to be sick.

  The messengers are coming hot and heavy, and every single one of them will report nothing but what he’s heard from me. Straight from Rumor, they bring pretty tales of false comfort, which are far worse than truthful news of misfortune.

  RUMOR exits.

  ACT ONE

  SCENE 1

  Original Text

  Enter LORD BARDOLPH

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Who keeps the gate here, ho?

  Enter the PORTER

  Where is the Earl?

  PORTER

  What shall I say you are?

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Tell thou the Earl

  That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.

  PORTER

  His lordship is walked forth into the orchard.

  5

  Please it your Honor knock but at the gate

  And he himself will answer.

  Enter NORTHUMBERLAND

  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

  10

  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.

  15

  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

  Killed by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John

  And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field;

  20

  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 Caesar’s fortunes.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  How is this derived?

  25

  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 rendered me these news for true.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Here comes my servant Travers, who I sent

  30

  On Tuesday last to listen after news.

  Enter TRAVERS

  LORD BARDOLPH

  My lord, I overrode him on the way;

  And he is furnished with no certainties

  More than he haply may retail from me.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?

  TRAVERS

  35

  My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turned me back

  With joyful tidings and, being better horsed,

  Outrode me. After him came spurring hard

  A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,

  That stopp’d by me to breathe his bloodied horse.

  40

  He asked 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

  45

  And, bending forward, struck his armèd heels

  Against the panting sides of his poor jade

  Up to the rowel-head, and starting so

  He seemed in running to devour the way,

  Staying no longer question.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Ha? Again:

  50

  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 honor, for a silken point

  55

  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 stolen

  The horse he rode on and, upon my life,

  60

  Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.

  Enter MORTON

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  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.—

  65

  Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

  MORTON

  I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord,

  Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask

  To fright our party.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  How doth my son and brother?

  70

  Thou tremblest, and the whiteness in thy cheek

  Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.

  Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,

  So dull, so dead in look, so woebegone,

  Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night,

  75

  And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;

  But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,

  And I my Percy’s death ere thou report’st it.

  This thou wouldst say, “Your son did thus and thus;

  Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas”—

  80

  Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds.

  But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,

  Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,

  Ending with “Brother, son, and all are dead.”

  MORTON

  Douglas is living, and your brother yet,

  85

  But for my lord your son—

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  Why, he is dead.

  See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!

  He that but fears the thing he would not know

  Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others’ eyes

  That what he feared is chancèd. Yet speak, Morton.

  90

  Tell thou an earl his divination lies,

  And I will take it as a sweet disgrace

  And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.

  MORTON

  You are too great to be by me gainsaid,

  Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  95

  Yet, for all this, say not that Percy’s dead.

  I see a strange confession in thine eye.

  Thou shak’st thy head and hold’st it fear or sin

  To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so.

  The tongue offends not that reports his death;

  100

  And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,

  Not he which says the dead is not alive.

  Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news

  Hath but a losing office, and his tongue

  Sounds ever after as a sullen bell

  105

  Remembered tolling a departing friend.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

  MORTON

  I am sorry I should force you to believe

  That which I would to God I had not seen,

  But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,

  110

  Rend’ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed,

  To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down

  The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

  From whence with life he never more sprung up.

  In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire

  115

  Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,

  Being bruited once, took fire and heat away

  From the best tempered courage in his troops;

  For from his metal was his party steeled,

  Which, once in him abated, all the rest

  120

  Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.

  And as the thing that’s heavy in itself

  Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,

  So did our men, heavy in Hotspur’s loss,

  Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear

  125

  That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim

  Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,

  Fly from the field. Then was the noble Worcester

  Too soon ta’en prisoner; and that furious Scot,

  The bloody Douglas, whose well-laboring sword

  130

  Had three times slain th’appearance of the King,

  Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame

  Of those that turned their backs and in his flight,

  Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all

  Is that the King hath won and hath sent out

  135

  A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,

  Under the conduct of young Lancaster

  And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  For this I shall have time enough to mourn.

  In poison there is physic, and these news,

  140

  Having been well, that would have made me sick,

  Being sick, have in some measure made me well.

  And as the wretch whose fever-weakened joints,

  Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,

  Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

  145

  Out of his keeper’s arms, even so my limbs,

  Weakened with grief, being now enraged with grief,

  Are thrice themselves. Hence therefore, thou nice crutch.

  A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

  Must glove this hand. And hence, thou sickly coif.

  150

  Thou art a guard too wanton for the head

  Which princes, fleshed with conquest, aim to hit.

  Now bind my brows with iron, and approach

  The ragged’st hour that time and spite dare bring

  To frown upon th’enraged Northumberland.

  155

  Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature’s hand

  Keep the wild flood confined. Let order die,

  And let this world no longer be a stage

  To feed contention in a lingering act;

  But let one spirit of the firstborn Cain

  160

  Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set

  On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,

  And darkness be the burier of the dead.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  This strainèd passion doth you wrong, my lord.

  MORTON

  Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honor.

  165

  The lives of all your loving complices

  Lean on your health, the which, if you give o’er

  To stormy passion, must perforce decay.

  You cast th’ event of war, my noble lord,

  And summed the account of chance before you said

  170

  “Let us make head.” It was your presurmise

  That, in the dole of blows your son might drop.

  You knew he walked o’er perils on an edge,

  More likely to fall in than to get o’er.

  You were advised his flesh was capable

  175

  Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit

  Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged.

  Yet did you say “Go forth,” and none of this,

  Though strongly apprehended, could restrain

  The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall’n,

  180

  Or what did this bold enterprise brought forth,

  More than that being which was like to be?

  LORD BARDOLPH

  We all that are engagèd to this loss

  Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas

  That if we wrought out life, ’twas ten to one;

  185

  And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed

  Choked the respect of likely peril feared;

  And since we are o’erset, venture again.

  Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.

  MORTON

  ’Tis more than time.—And, my most noble lord,

  190

  I hear for certain, and do speak the truth:

  The gentle Archbishop of York is up

  With well-appointed powers. He is a man

  Who with a double surety binds his followers.

  My lord your son had only but the corpse,

  195

  But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;

  For that same word “rebellion” did divide

  The action of their bodies from their souls,

  And they did fight with queasiness, constrained,

  As men drink potions, that their weapons only

  200

  Seemed on our side. But, for their spirits and souls,

  This word “rebellion,” it had froze them up

  As fish are in a pond. But now the Bishop

  Turns insurrection to religion.

  Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,

  205

  He’s followed both with body and with mind,

  And doth enlarge his rising with the blood

  Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones;

  Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;

  Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land,

  210

  Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke;

  And more and less do flock to follow him.

  NORTHUMBERLAND

  I knew of this before, but, to speak truth,

  This present grief had wiped it from my mind.

  Go in with me and counsel every man

  215

  The aptest way for safety and revenge.

  Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed.

  Never so few, and never yet more need.

  Exeunt

  ACT ONE

  SCENE 1

  Modern Text

  LORD BARDOLPH enters.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Hello? Who’s the doorman around here?

  The PORTER opens the door.

  (to the PORTER) Where’s the Earl?

  PORTER

  Who shall I say you are?

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Tell the Earl that the Lord Bardolph is here to see him.

  PORTER

  His lordship is out walking in the orchard. If you don’t mind, knock at the orchard gate and he’ll answer it himself.

  NORTHUMBERLAND enters from another side of the stage.

  LORD BARDOLPH

  Here comes the Earl.