THOU HAST STOLEN THAT, WHICH, AFTER SOME FEW HOURS, WERE THINE WITHOUT OFFENCE.
KING HENRY THE FOURTH.
HENRY, Prince of Wales, afterwards King Henry V.;
THOMAS, Duke of Clarence;
PRINCE JOHN of Lancaster, afterwards (2 HENRT V.) Duke of his Fons Bedford;
PRINCE HUMPHREY of Gloster, afterwards (2 HENRY V.) Duke
of Gloster;
EARL OF WARWICK ;
TRAVERS AND MORTON, Domestics of Northumberland,
FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, AND PAGE.
POINS AND PETO, Attendants on Prince Heury.
SHALLOW AND SILENCE, Country Justices.
DAVY, Servant to Shallow.
MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, AND BULL-CALF, Recruits
FANG AND SNARE, Sheriff's Officers.
A DANCER, Speaker of the Epiloge.
LADY NORTHUMBERLAND.
LADY PERCY.
HOSTESS QUICKLY.
Lords and other Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, Messengers,
WARKWORTH. Before NORTHUMBERLAND's Castio.
Enter RUMOUR, painted full of Tongues.
Rumour. Open your ears; For which of you will
The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride;
l'he which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert enmity,
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence;
Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour 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 wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
I run before King Harry's victory,
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,
Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? my office is
To noise abroad,—that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword;
And that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
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 learn'd of me; From Rumour's tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true
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