North.
Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you?

Tra.
My lord, Sir John Umfrevil turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost fore-spent 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 ill luck;
And that young Harry Percy's Spur was cold:
With that he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his agile heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the ^{8 note}rowel-head; and, starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.

North.
Ha?—again—
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Rebellion had ill luck?

Bard.
My lord, I'll tell you;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine Honour, for a ^{9 note}silken point
I'll give my Barony. Ne'er talk of it.

North.
Why should the gentleman, that rode by Travers,
Give then such instances of loss?

Bard.
Who he?
He was ^{1 note}some hilding fellow, that had stoll'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spake at adventure. Look, here comes more news.

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