Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

With that he gave his able horse the head,
And, bending forward, struck his agile heels
Againft the panting sides of his poorjade
Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so,
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.

North. Ha? again:
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ?
Rebellion had ill luck ?

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you ;
If my young Lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine Honour, for a filken point
l'il

give my Barony. Ne'er talk of it. North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by

Travers.
Give then such instances of loss?

Bard. Who he?
He was some hilding fellow, that had ftoll'n
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life,
Spake at adventure. Look, here comes more news.

SC EN N E III.

Enter Morton.
EA, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,

North. Y

[ocr errors]

So looks the strond, whereon th'imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didft thou come from Shrewsbury?

Mort. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord,
Where hateful death put on his ugliest Mask
To fright our Party,

North. How doth my son, and Brother?
Thou trembleft; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, fo faint, so fpiritless,
So dull, fo dead in look, fo woe-be-gone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
F 5

And

[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:
But Priam 'found the fire, ere he his tongue;
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'ft it.
This thou would'st say: your Són did thus, and thus:
Your brother, thus : fo fought the noble Dowglas :
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds.
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a figh to blow away this praise,
Ending with brother, son, and all are dead!

Mort, Dowglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But for my lord your son-

North. Why, he is dead.
See, what a ready tongue fufpicion hath!
He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from other's eyes,
That what he feard is chanc'd. Yet, Morton, fpeak:
Tell thou thy Earl, his Divination lies;
And I will take it as a sweet 'Difgrace,
And make thee rich for doing me fuch wrong.

Mort. You are too Great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.

North. Yet for all this, fay not, that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confeflion in thine

eye:
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'It it fear, or sin,
To speak' a truth. If he be flain, fay for
The tongue offends not, that reports his death :
And he doth fin, that doth belie the dead,
Not he, which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a lofing office: and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a fullen bell,
Remember'd, tolling a departing friend.

Bard. 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 feen.
But these mine eyes faw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd,
To Henry Morinouth; whose swift wrath beat down

The

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-temper'd courage in his troops.
For from his metal was his

party

Iteel'd ; Which once in him rebated, all the rest Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. And as the thing, that's heavy in its self, Upon enforcement, flies with greateft fpeed; So did our men, heavy in Hot spur's loss, Lend to this weight fuch lightness with their fear, That arrows fled not (wifter toward their aim, Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worster Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, The bloody Dowglas, whose well-labouring sword Had three times flain th' appearance of the King, 'Gan vail his ftomach, and did grace the shame Of those that turn'd 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 Pow'r to encounter you, my lord, Under the conduct of young Lancaster And Westmorland. This is the news at full.

North, For this, I fhall have time enough to mourn. In poison there is physic: and this news, That would, had I been well, have made me fick, Being fick, hath in some measure made me well. And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd 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 theretore, thou nice

crutch; A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

F6

Must

Must glove this hand. And hence, thou fickly quoif,
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which Princes, flesh'd with conqueft, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron, and approach
The ruggedit hour that time and spight dare bring
To frown upon th’eprag'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 lingring act:
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bofoms, that each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead !
Bard. This strained paffion doth you wrong, my

lord! Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

Mort. The lives of all your loving complices Lean on your health ; the which, if To stormy passion, must perforce decay. You cast th' event of war, my noble lord, And summ'd th' account of chance, before you said, Let us make head: it was your presurmise, That, in the dole of blows, your fon might drop : You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge More likely to fall in, than to get o'er: You were advis’d, his flesh was capable Of wounds and scars; and that his forward fpirit Would lift him where moft trade of danger rang'da Yet did you say, Go forth. And none of this, Though Trongly apprehended, could restrain The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall'n, Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth, More than That being, which was like to be?

· Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss, Knew, that we ventur'd on such dang'rous seas, That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one : And yet we ventur'd for the gain proposod,

Choak'd

you give o'er.

109
Choak'd the respect of likely peril fear'd;
And since we are o'er-set, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods.
Mort. 'Tis more than time.; and

my

most nable
lord,
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth:
The gentle Arch-bilhop 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 corps,
But shadows, and the shews 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: constrain'd,
As men drink potions, that their weapons only
Seem'd 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 ;
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind:
And doth enlarge his Rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones ;
Derives from heav'n his quarrel and his cause;
Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land
Gasping for life, under great Bolingbroke :
And more, and lefs, do flock to follow him.

North. I knew of this beforc: but to speak truth,
This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. .
Go in with me, and counsel

every
The aptest way for safety and revenge :
Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never fo few, nor never yet more need. [Exeunt.

E!

man

SCENE

« AnteriorContinuar »