Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour Īnd shape of likelihood the news was told įor he that brought them, in the very heatĪnd pride of their contention did take horse, On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there, This, match’d with other, did, my gracious lord Ĭame from the North, and thus it did import:
It seems then that the tidings of this broilīrake off our business for the Holy Land. Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fightĪgainst the irregular and wild Glendower, My liege, this haste was hot in questionīut yesternight when all athwart there cameĪ post from Wales, loaden with heavy news Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail’dīut this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,Īnd bootless ’tis to tell you we will go. Over whose acres walk’d those blessed feet To chase these pagans in those holy fields Whose arms were moulded in their mother’s womb Whose soldier now, under whose blessed crossįorthwith a power of English shall we levy, The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,Īll of one nature, of one substance bred,Īgainst acquaintance, kindred, and allies. Nor Bruise her flow’rets with the armed hoofs No more shall trenching war channel her fields, Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood. No more the thirsty entrance of this soil So shaken as we are, so wan with care,įind we a time for frighted peace to pantĪnd breathe short-winded accents of new broils The Palace.Įnter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland,
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