But that's been my plan for a year now, so there's no point in telling you all this again. That's not the issue at hand. So tell me, my noble kinsman Westmoreland, what my royal advisors decided last night about this important undertaking.
WESTMORELAND
My liege, this haste was hot in question,
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And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight: when all athwart there came
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news,
Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
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Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
A thousand of his people butcherèd,
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
Such beastly shameless transformation
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By those Welshwomen done, as may not be
Without much shame retold or spoken of.
WESTMORELAND
Your Highness, there was hot debate about this urgent mission, and many responsibilities had just been assigned when we were suddenly cut off by a messenger with bad news from Wales. The worst of it was that the noble Mortimer, who was leading the men of Herefordshire in battle against that barbarian Glendower, was captured. A thousand of his men have been butchered, their dead corpses desecrated by the Welsh women. The things they did were so horrible that I'm too ashamed to report them.
KING
It seems then that the tidings of this broil
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
KING
I suppose this news disrupts our plans to invade the Holy Land.
WESTMORELAND
This matched with other did, my gracious lord.
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For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north and thus it did import:
On Holy-rood Day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever valiant and approvèd Scot,
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At Holmedon met, where they did spend
A sad and bloody hour—
As by discharge of their artillery
And shape of likelihood the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
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And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.
WESTMORELAND
This and other things, your Highness: even more unsettling and unwelcome news has arrived from the north. On Holy Cross Day, the heroic young Harry Percy—who we know as Hotspur—fought at Holmeden against Archibald, Earl of Douglas, that brave and battle-proven Scotsman. The two of them fought a long and bloody battle there, judging by the way the guns were firing. The messenger who brought the news left when the battle was at its height, so he couldn't say for sure who had won.
