Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Mor. But these mine eyes, saw him in bloody state,
Mor. Rendering faint quittance (wearied, and out‑breath'd).
Mor. To Henrie Monmouth, whose swift wrath beate downe
Mor. The neuer‑daunted Percie to the earth,
Mor. From whence (with life) he never more sprung up.
Mor. In few; his death (whose spirit lent a fire,
Mor. Even to the dullest Peazant in his Campe)
Mor. Being bruited once, tooke fire and heate away
Mor. From the best temper'd Courage in his Troopes.
Mor. For from his Mettle, was his Party steel'd;
Mor. Which once, in him abated, all the rest
Mor. Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy Lead:
Mor. And as the Thing, that's heauy in it selfe,
Mor. Vpon enforcement, flyes with greatest speede,
Mor. So did our Men, heavy in Hotspurres losse,
Mor. Lend to this weight, such lightnesse with their Feare,
Mor. That Arrowes fled not swifter toward their ayme,
Mor. Then did our Soldiers (ayming at their safety)
Mor. Fly from the field. Then was that Noble Worcester
Mor. Too soone ta'ne prisoner: and that furious Scot,