of all the descriptive Parts of this Song, there are none more
beautiful than the four following Stanzas which have a great Force and
Spirit in them, and are filled with very natural Circumstances. The
Thought in the third Stanza was never touched by any other Poet, and is
such an one as would have shined in _Homer_ or in _Virgil_.

So thus did both those Nobles die,
Whose Courage none could stain:
An _English_ Archer then perceived
The noble Earl was slain.

He had a Bow bent in his Hand,
Made of a trusty Tree,
An Arrow of a Cloth-yard long
Unto the Head drew he.

Against Sir _Hugh Montgomery_
So right his Shaft he set,
The Gray-goose Wing that was thereon
In his Heart-Blood was wet.

This Fight did last from Break of Day
Till setting of the Sun;
For when they rung the Evening Bell
The Battle scarce was done.

One may observe likewise, that in the Catalogue of the Slain the Author
has followed the Example of the greatest ancient Poets, not only in
giving a long List of the Dead, but by diversifying it with little
Characters of particular Persons.

And with Earl _Dowglas_ there was slain
Sir _Hugh Montgomery_,
Sir _Charles Carrel_, that from the Field
One Foot would never fly:

Sir _Charles Murrel_ of Ratcliff too,
His Sister's Son was he;
Sir _David Lamb_, so well esteem'd,
Yet saved could not be.

The familiar Sound in these Names destroys the Majesty of the
Description; for this Reason I do not mention this Part of the Poem but
to shew the natural Cast of Thought which appears in it, as the two last
Verses look almost like a Translation of _Virgil_.

... Cadit et Ripheus justissimus unus
Qui fuit in Teucris et servantissimus aequi,
Diis aliter visum est ...

In the Catalogue of the _English_ [who [5]] fell, _Witherington's_
Behaviour is in the same manner particularized very artfully, as the
Reader is prepared for it by that Account which is given of him in the
Beginning of the Battle [; though I am satisfied your little Buffoon
Readers (who have seen that Passage ridiculed in _Hudibras_) will not be
able to take the Beauty of it: For which Reason I dare not so much as
quote it].

Then stept a gallant Squire forth,
_Witherington_ was his Name,
Who said, I would not have it told
To _Henry_ our King for Shame,

That e'er my Captain fought on Foot,
And I stood looking on.

We meet with the same He