Nor. Beleeue me noble Lord,
I am a stranger heere in Gloustershire,
These high wilde hilles, and rough vneeuen waies,
Drawes out our miles, and makes them wearisome.
And yet our faire discourse hath beene as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable:
But I bethinke me, what a wearie way
From Rauenspurgh to Cottshold will be found,
In Rosse and Willoughby, wanting your companie,
Which I protest hath very much beguild
The tediousnesse, and processe of my trauell:
But theirs is sweetned with the hope to haue
The present benefit that I possesse;
And hope to ioy, is little lesse in ioy,
Then hope enioy'd: By this, the wearie Lords
Shall make their way seeme short, as mine hath done,
By sight of what I haue, your Noble Companie

Bull. Of much lesse value is my Companie,
Then your good words: but who comes here?

Enter H[arry]. Percie.

North. It is my Sonne, young Harry Percie,
Sent from my Brother Worcester: Whence soeuer.
Harry, how fares your Vnckle?
Percie. I had thought, my Lord, to haue learn'd his
health of you

North. Why, is he not with the Queene?