York. A Room in the Archbishop’s Palace.
[Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael.]
Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief
With winged haste to the Lord Marshal;
This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest
To whom they are directed. If you knew
How much they do import, you would make haste.
My good lord,
I guess their tenour.
Like enough you do.
To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,
As I am truly given to understand,
The King, with mighty and quick-raised power,
Meets with Lord Harry: and, I fear, Sir Michael,
What with the sickness of Northumberland,
Whose power was in the first proportion,
And what with Owen Glendower’s absence thence,
Who with them was a rated sinew too,
And comes not in, o’er-rul’d by prophecies,—
I fear the power of Percy is too weak
To wage an instant trial with the King.
Why, my good lord, you need not fear;
There’s Douglas and Lord Mortimer.
No, Mortimer’s not there.
But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,
And there’s my Lord of Worcester; and a head
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.
And so there is: but yet the King hath drawn
The special head of all the land together;
The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt;
And many more corrivals and dear men
Of estimation and command in arms.
Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed.
I hope no less, yet needful ’tis to fear;
And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed:
For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us,
For he hath heard of our confederacy;
And ’tis but wisdom to make strong against him:
Therefore make haste. I must go write again
To other friends; and so, farewell, Sir Michael.