Morton

Lord Bardolph
Look, here comes more news.
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 witnessed usurpation.—
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?

Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office,
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Lord Bardolph
I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Morton, to Northumberland
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,
Rend’ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed,
To Harry Monmouth,
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Northumberland
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach
The ragged’st hour that time and spite dare bring
To frown upon th’ enraged Northumberland.
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;
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