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BARDOLPH. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead,
Mort. 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, wearied and out-breath'd,
To Henry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat dowit
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 bis camp)

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Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops.
For from his retal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him rebated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like duil 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,
Fly from the field. Then: was the noble Wor'ster
Too soon ta'en prisoner : and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword..
Had three times slain th' appearance of the king,
'Gan yail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his fight,
Stumbling in fear, :was took. The sum of all .
Is, that the king hath won ;- and bath sent out.
A speedy pow'r t'encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancasterin .
And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. . .

North. For this I shall have time enough to mourr. In poison there is physic: and this news,'.. That would, had I been well, have made me sick, Being sick, hatli, 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; ev'n so my limbs, Weaken’d with grief, being now enrag'd 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,

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Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which princes, flush'd with conquest, aim to hit,
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach
The rugged'st hour that time and spight dare bring
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
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!

Hynn to CYNTHIA.

(B. JONSON.)
QUEEN, and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the Sun is la:d to sleep;
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:

Hesperus intreats thy light, :
Goddess, excellently bright. "
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;'
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to cheer, when day did close;

Bless us then with wished sight,

Goddess, excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal-shining quiver ; !
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever:

Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess, excellently bright.

A HYMN.

(THOMSON.) These, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, these, Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of thee., Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beauty walkis, thy tenderness and love: Wide Aush 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 inonths,',
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 uncontin'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 rollid,
Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing,
Riding subline, 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 forni 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, thetice-
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring :
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day;
Feeds ev'ry creatúre, hurl; 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 solitary. gipomş!..
Where, o’er the rock, the scarcely waving pine.
Fills the brown skade with a religious awe.
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, .
Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heaven :....
Th’impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. : :
His praise, ye byooks, attune, ye trembling tills; . ..
And let me çatch it as I muse along,

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Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maže
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A secret world of wonders 'in thyself,
Sound his stupendous praise: whose' greater 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 exalis,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to him;
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
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, ihe 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'liush'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 responsive lowe,
Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shepherd reigns ;
And his unsuffering kingdóm yet will come.
Ye woodlands ail, awake: a boundless song.
Burst from the groves! and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warblinig world asleep,
Sweetest of birds ! sweet Thiloinela, charın,
The listening shades, and teach the night his praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles;

At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all,
· Crown the great hymn! in swarming cities yast,

Assembled men, to the deep orgán 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.
Or if you rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fane in every sacred grove;
There let the shepherd's' fute, the virgin's Jay
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the God of Seasons as they tot

For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray
Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams,
Or Winter rises in the blackering 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'shill come,
And wing my mystic Aight 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 ,
Myself in Him, in LIGHT INEPPABLE!
Come then, expressive Silence! muse His praise,

The UNIVERSAL PRAYER

(POPE) :

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, s,
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.

Left free the human will.

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