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PDF I cannot thin'<, my lord, your son Is dead,
Moht. I'm sorry I should force you to believe
That which I would to Heav'n I had not seen.
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance, weaned and out-breath'J,
To Henry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat dowif
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
Ev'n to the dullest peasant in his camp) ■ . i

Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops.
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him rebated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lend.
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,
FI7 from the field. Then:was the noble Wor'ster
Too soon ta'en prisoner: an.d that furious Scot,.
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword.
Had three times slain th' appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd the'ns 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 pow'r t'encounter you, my lord, , .
Under the conduct of young Lancaster .

And Westmoreland. Thisjs. the news at full.

North. For this I shall have time enough to mour;j. In poison there is phytic: and this news, That would, had I been well, have made me sick. Being sick, hath, in some measure, made me well. And as the wretch, whose fever-weakened joints, Like strengthless hinges, buckle undej life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fir© Out of his keeper's arms; .ev'n so ray limbs, Weaken'd with grief, enraged with. grief, Are thrice themselves,' Hence therefore) thou nice crutch; A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel . ■ Must glove this hand. And hence, thou sickly quoif, 'R 2 . . • , •

Thou art a guard too wanton for the head.
Which princes, flush'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron, ahd approach
The rugged'st hour that time and spiglit dare brings
To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland!
Let heav'n kiss earth! Now let not Nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd; let order die,
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a ling'ring act:
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Eeign in all bosoms, that each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!

Hymn U Cynthia.

Is. jdksON.)

©UEEN, and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the Sun is laid to sleep;
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus intreats thy light,
Goddess, excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shad*
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to cheer, when day did closes
Bless us then with wished sight,
Goddess, excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal-shining quivet;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how sh'oVt noem:
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess, excellently bright.

A Hymn.

(THOMSON) These, as tfiey thange, Aimighty Father, these. Are bat the HxifM God. The rolling year Is full of thee. Forth in theJpteasing Sptittg Thy beauty walk's, thy tenderness and love: Wide flush the fields, the softenipg air is balm;

Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles; ... . .
And every sense, and every heart is joy.
Then comes thy Glory in the Summer-months, -
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun . . *.
Shoots full perfection thro' the swelling year: . -
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks; -
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales.
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd,
And spreads a common feast for all that lives.
In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd,
Majestic darkness' on the whirlwind's wing, r
Riding sublime, thou bid'st the world adore,
And humblest Nature with thy northern blast.
Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine,
Deep-felt, in these appear! a simple train,
Yet so delightful mix d, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combin'd;
Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade;
And all so form ng an harmonious whole;
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze.
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand,
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres;
Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence.
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring:
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; , ,
Feeds ev'ry creatüre; hurls the tempest forth,
And, as on Earth this grateful change revolves, ... .
With transport touches all the springs of life. . . "
Nature, attend join every living soul,
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise -
One general’song!"To him, ye vocal gales, . . . . . . .”
Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes: . . .
Oh talk of him in sälitary glooms! . . - -
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine .
Fills the brown shäde with a religious awe.
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, . . . s.
Who'shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heaven
Th’ impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. . . . . . . .
His praise, ye books, attusie, ye tremblingrill; . . . .
And let me catch it as I'muse along, i. . . . .
.*** - V ->. ‘R 3 > * * ~ *-* - - - - - - -

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profounā;
Ye softer floods, that lead the hūmid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic train,
A secret world of wonders in thyself, . . . . .
Sound his stupendous praise; whosegretter voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. . . . .
Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, ...,
Whose breath perfumes you, asid whose o paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to hitn; -
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous modn.
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth'asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Great source of day!"best image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, . . .
From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On Nature write with every beam'his praise. ,
The thunder rolls: be hush'd the prostrate world;
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills: ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound: the broad resp. #. lowe,
Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shepherd reigns;
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands all awake: a boundless song -
Burst from the groves: änd'whéh the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds : sweet Whilomela, Charin , , ,
The listening shades, and teach the night his praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smilés;
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn ! in swarming cities vast,
Assembled men, to the deep organ join . .
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, thro' the swelling base;
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
“In one united order fise to heaven
for if you rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fame in every sacred grove ; -
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay .
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, -
Still sing the God of Seasons as they too,

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For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray
Russets the plain, inspiring Auttfinn gleams,
Or Winter rises in the blackening east;
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat
Should fate command me to the faithest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me: :
Since GoD is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full; -
And where HE vital spreads there must be joy.
When even at last the solemn hour'sh 'll come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rising wonders sing: I cannot go, .
Where UNIVERSAL LovE not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns:
From seeming Evil still educing Good,
And Better thence again, and Better still,
In infinite progression.—But I lose
Cóme then, expressive Silence! muse His praise.

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The Universal. PRAysr.
Deo opT. MAx.

FATHER of All in ev'ry age,

In ev'ry clime ador'd,
By Saint, by Savage, and by Sage,

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou Great First Cause, least understood,

Who all my sense confin'd,

To know but this, that Thou art good
And that myself am blind;

Yet gave me in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;

And binding nature fast in fate.
Most free the human will,

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