Health to my sovereign, and new happiness

Westmoreland 
Health to my sovereign, and new happiness
Added to that that I am to deliver.
Prince John your son doth kiss your Grace’s hand.
Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all
Are brought to the correction of your law.
There is not now a rebel’s sword unsheathed,
But peace puts forth her olive everywhere.

O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day.

The manner how this action hath been borne
Here at more leisure may your Highness read
With every course in his particular.
 He gives the King a paper.
King
O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day.
 Enter Harcourt.
Look, here’s more news.
Harcourt 
From enemies heavens keep your Majesty,
And when they stand against you, may they fall
As those that I am come to tell you of.
The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph,
With a great power of English and of Scots,
Are by the shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown.
The manner and true order of the fight
This packet, please it you, contains at large.
He gives the King papers.
King
And wherefore should these good news make me sick?
Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in foulest letters?
She either gives a stomach and no food—
Such are the poor, in health—or else a feast
And takes away the stomach—such are the rich,
That have abundance and enjoy it not.
I should rejoice now at this happy news,
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.
O, me! Come near me, now I am much ill.