On Tuesday laft to liften after news.

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way,
And he is furnish'd with no certainties,
More than he, haply, may retail from me.

SCENE II.

Enter Travers.

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you?

Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevil turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him came fpurring hard A gentleman, almost fore-spent with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horfe; He afk'd the way to Chefter; and of him I did demand what news from Shrewsbury. He told me, that Rebellion had ill luck; And that young Harry Percy's Spur was cold: With that he gave his able horse the head, And, bending forward, ftruck his agile heels Against the panting fides of his poor jade Up to the rowel-head; and, ftarting fo, He feem'd in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question.

North. Ha?

-again

Said he, young Harry Percy's fpur was cold?
Rebellion had ill luck?

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you;

If my young lord your fon have not the day,
Upon mine Honour, for a filken point
I'll give my Barony. Ne'er talk of it.

Rovel head.] I think that I have obferved in old prints the rowel of those times to have been

only a fingle fpike.
9 Silken point. A point is a
firing tagged, or lace.

North

North. Why fhould the gentleman, that rode by

Travers,

Give then fuch inftances of lofs?

Bard. Who he?

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

SCENE III.

Enter Morton.

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Foretels the nature of a tragick volume.

So looks the ftrond, whereon th' imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd ufurpation.

Say, Morton, did'ft 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 fon, and Brother?
Thou trembleft; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even fuch a man, fo faint, fo fpiritless,
So dull, fo dead in look, "fo woe-be-gone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
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'ft fay: your Son did thus, and thus;
Your brother, thus; fo fought the noble Douglas:
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds;

But in the end, to ftop mine ear indeed,
Thou haft a figh to blow away this praise,
Ending with brother, fon, and all are dead!
Mort. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But for my lord your fon-

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 fear'd is chanc'd. Yet, Morton, speak,
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 fpirit is too true, your fears too certain.
North. Yet for all this, fay not, that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confeffion in thine eye,

3 Your Spirit.] The impreffion upon your mind, by which you conceive the death of your fon.

Yet for all this, fay not, &c.] The contradiction in the first part of this speech might be imputed to the diftraction of Northumberland's mind, but the calmnefs of the reflection, contained in the laft lines, seems not much to countenance fuch a fuppofition. I will venture to diftribute this paffage in a manner which will, I hope, feem more commodious, but do not wish the reader to forget, that the most commodious is not always the true reading.

Bard. Yet for all this, fay not
that Percy's dead.
North. I fee a frange confef-
fion in thine eye,

1 nou fhak'ft thy head, and hold'st it fear, or fin,
To speak a truth. If he be flain, fay fo.
The tongue offends not, that reports his death;
And he doth fin, that doth belie the dead,
Not he, which fays 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 fon is dead. Mort. I'm forry, I fhould force you to believe That, which, I would to heav'n, I had not feen; But these mine eyes faw him in bloody ftate, Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd, To Henry Monmouth; whofe swift wrath beat down The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence, with life, he never more sprung up.
In few, his death, whofe fpirit lent a fire
Even to the dulleft peafant 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 steel'd;

Fear, for danger. WARBURTON,

Which

bold' it fear, or fin.] bis metal was abated, as well as his courage was abated. See what is faid on this fubject on Love's Labour Left, A&t V.

If he be fiain, Jay .] The words fay fo are in the firft folio, but not in the quarto: they are neceflary to the verfe, but the fenfe proceeds as well without

them.

7 For from his metal was his party feel'd;

Which ence in him ABATED, -] The word metal is one of thofe hacknicd metaphorical terms, which refumes fo much of a literal fenfe as not to need the idea (from whence the figure is taken) to be kept up. So that it may with elegance enough be faid,

But when the writer fhews, as here, both before and after, [-bis party peel'd· turn'd on themselves like dull and heavy lead] that his intention was not to drop the idea from whence he took his metaphor, then he cannot fay with propriety and elegance, his metal was a bated; becaufe what he predicates of metal, must be then convey'd in a term conformable to the metaphor. Hence I conclude that Sakespeare wrote,

Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as the thing, that's heavy in its felf,
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed;
So did our men, heavy in Hot-fpur's lois,
Lend to this weight fuch lightnefs with their fear,
That arrows fled not fwifter toward their aim,
Than did our foldiers, aiming at their fafety,
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Wor'fter
Too foon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whofe well-labouring fword
Had three times flain th' appearance of the King,
'Gan vail his ftomach, and did grace the fhame
Of thofe that turn'd their backs; and in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The fum of all
Is, that the King hath won; and hath fent 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 phyfick, and this news,

That would, had I been well, have made me fick,
Being fick, hath in fome measure made me well.
And as the wretch, whofe fever-weaken'd joints,
Like ftrengthlefs hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms; ev'n fo my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now inrag'd with grief,
Are thrice themselves. Hence therefore, thou nice

crutch;

Which once in him REBATED,

i.e. blunted. WARBURTON. Here is a great effort to produce little effect. The commentator does not feem fully to understand the word abated, which is not here put for the general idea of diminished, nor for the notion of blunted as applied to a VOL. IV.

R

fingle edge, but for reduced to a lower temper, or as the tvorkmen now call it, let down. It is very proper.

8 'Gan vail his ftomach,- -] Began to fall his courage, to let his fpirits fink under his fortune. 9buckle] Bend; yield to preffure.

A fcaly