In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire 125 Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, 126 Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 127 From the best-tempered courage in his troops; 128 For from his mettle was his party steeled, 129 Which, once in him abated, all the rest 130 Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
MORTON, < to Northumberland >
I am sorry I should force you to believe 118
That which I would to God I had not seen, 119
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 120
Rend’ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed, 121
To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down 122
The never-daunted Percy to the earth, 123
From whence with life he never more sprung up. 124
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire 125
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, 126
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 127
From the best-tempered courage in his troops; 128
For from his mettle was his party steeled, 129
Which, once in him abated, all the rest 130
Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. 131
