ACT I

Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, now lighted from his horse,
Stained with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
Balked in their own blood did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake, Earl of Fife and eldest son,
To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
And is this not an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not?