Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.

Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.

I will be gone, That pitiful rumor may report my flight To consolate thine ear.

RUMOUR:
"Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

What is this the sound and rumor? What is this that all men hear, Like the wind in hollow valleys when the storm is drawing near, Like the rolling of the ocean in the eventide of fear? 'Tis the people marching on

Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it.