<SPEECH 1><ACT 1><SCENE 1><2%>
<TRAVERS>	<3%>
	My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
	With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd,
	Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
	A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
	That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
	He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
	I did demand what news from Shrewsbury.
	He told me that rebellion had bad luck,
	And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
	With that he gave his able horse the head,
	And, bending forward struck his armed heels
	Against the panting sides of his poor jade
	Up to the rowel-head, and, starting so,
	He seem'd in running to devour the way,
	Staying no longer question.
</TRAVERS>

<SPEECH 2><ACT 1><SCENE 1><6%>
<TRAVERS>	<6%>
	This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.
</TRAVERS>

