Page 993 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

To noise about that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur’s sword, [30]
And that the king before the Douglas’ rage
Stooped his anointed head as low as death.

This have I rumoured through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, [35]
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 learned of me. From Rumour’s tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. [40]

Exit Rumour.