L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

Mor. I'm sorry I should force you to believe That which I would to Heaven I had not seen; But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed,

To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat

down

The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death-whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp—
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best-tempered courage in his troops;
For from his metal was his party steeled;
Which once in him abated, all the rest

Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead :
And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,

Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear.
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field.

Then was that noble Wor

cester

Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turned their backs; and in his
flight,

Stumbling in fear, was took.

The sum of all

Is, that the king hath won, and hath sent out
A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster

And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.
North. For this I shall have time enough to

-mourn.

In poison there is physic; and these news, Having been well, that would have made me sick, Being sick, have in some measure made me well : And as the wretch whose fever-weakened joints, Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs, Weakened with grief, being now enraged with

grief,

Are thrice themselves.

nice crutch!

Hence, therefore, thou

A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,

Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif !

Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
Which princes, fleshed with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enraged Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth! now, let not Nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confined! let order die !
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain

Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!

Tra. This strainéd passion doth you wrong, my lord.

L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

Mor. The lives of all your loving complices Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er To stormy passion, must perforce decay.

You cast the event of war, my noble lord,

And summed the account of chance before you

said,

'Let us make head.' It was your presurmise That in the dole of blows your son might drop; You knew he walked o'er perils, on an edge,

More likely to fall in than to get o'er:

You were advised his flesh was capable

Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit Would lift him where most trade of danger

ranged;

Yet did you say,—' Go forth;' and none of this, Though strongly apprehended, could restrain The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen, Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, More than that being which was like to be?

L. Bard. We all that are engagéd to this loss, Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas, That, if we wrought out life, 't was ten to one; And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed Choked the respect of likely peril feared,-And, since we are o'erset, venture again.

Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.

Mor. 'Tis more than time: and, my most noble

lord,

I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,
The gentle Archbishop of York is up,
With well-appointed powers: he is a man
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord your son had only but the corpse,
But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;
For that same word, rebellion, did divide

The action of their bodies from their souls,
And they did fight with queasiness, constrained,
As men drink potions; that their weapons only
Seemed on our side, but, for their spirits and souls,
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion :

Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's followed both with body and with mind,
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood

Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret

stones;

Derives from Heaven his quarrel and his cause; Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land, Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ;

And more and less do flock to follow him.

North. I knew of this before; but, to speak

truth,

This present grief had wiped it from my mind.
Go in with me; and counsel every man

The aptest way for safety and revenge :

Get posts and letters, and make friends with

speed:

Never so few, nor never yet more need. [Exeunt.