We’ll fight with him tonight.

It may not be.

You give him then advantage.

Not a whit.

Why say you so? Looks he not for supply?

So do we.

His is certain, ours is doubtful.

Good cousin, be advised, stir not tonight.

Do not, my lord.

You do not counsel well.

You speak it out of fear and cold heart.

Do me no slander, Douglas; by my life,

And I dare well maintain it with my life,

If well-respected honour bid me on,

I hold as little counsel with weak fear

As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives.

Let it be seen tomorrow in the battle

Which of us fears.

Yea, or tonight.

Content.

Tonight, say I.

Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much,

Being men of such great leading as you are,

That you foresee not what impediments

Drag back our expedition. Certain horse

Of my cousin Vernon’s are not yet come up.

Your uncle Worcester’s horse came but today,

And now their pride and mettle is asleep,

Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,

That not a horse is half the half himself.

So are the horses of the enemy

In general, journey-bated and brought low.

The better part of ours are full of rest.

The number of the King exceedeth ours.

For God’s sake, cousin, stay till all come in.

I come with gracious offers from the King,

If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.

Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt, and would to God

You were of our determination!

Some of us love you well, and even those some

Envy your great deservings and good name,

Because you are not of our quality,

But stand against us like an enemy.

And God defend but still I should stand so,

So long as out of limit and true rule

You stand against anointed majesty.

But to my charge. The King hath sent to know

The nature of your griefs, and whereupon

You conjure from the breast of civil peace

Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land

Audacious cruelty. If that the King

Have any way your good deserts forgot,

Which he confesseth to be manifold,

He bids you name your griefs, and with all speed

You shall have your desires with interest

And pardon absolute for yourself and these

Herein misled by your suggestion.

The King is kind, and well we know the King

Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.

My father and my uncle and myself

Did give him that same royalty he wears,

And when he was not six-and-twenty strong,

Sick in the world’s regard, wretched and low,

A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,

My father gave him welcome to the shore:

And when he heard him swear and vow to God

He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,

To sue his livery, and beg his peace

With tears of innocence and terms of zeal,

My father, in kind heart and pity moved,

Swore him assistance, and performed it too.

Now, when the lords and barons of the realm

Perceived Northumberland did lean to him,

The more and less came in with cap and knee,

Met him in boroughs, cities, villages,

Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,

Laid gifts before him, proffer’d him their oaths,

Give him their heirs as pages, follow’d him

Even at the heels in golden multitudes.

He presently, as greatness knows itself,

Steps me a little higher than his vow

Made to my father while his blood was poor

Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh;

And now forsooth takes on him to reform

Some certain edicts and some strait decrees

That lie too heavy on the commonwealth;

Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep

Over his country’s wrongs; and by this face,

This seeming brow of justice, did he win

The hearts of all that he did angle for;

Proceeded further—cut me off the heads

Of all the favourites that the absent King

In deputation left behind him here

When he was personal in the Irish war.

Tut, I came not to hear this.

Then to the point.

In short time after, he deposed the King,

Soon after that deprived him of his life,

And, in the neck of that, task’d the whole state.

To make that worse, suffer’d his kinsman March

(Who is, if every owner were well placed,

Indeed his king) to be engaged in Wales,

There without ransom to lie forfeited;

Disgraced me in my happy victories,

Sought to entrap me by intelligence,

Rated mine uncle from the Council-board,

In rage dismiss’d my father from the court,

Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong,

And in conclusion drove us to seek out

This head of safety, and withal to pry

Into his title, the which now we find

Too indirect for long continuance.

Shall I return this answer to the King?

Not so, Sir Walter. We’ll withdraw awhile.

Go to the King, and let there be impawn’d

Some surety for a safe return again,

And in the morning early shall my uncle

Bring him our purposes. And so, farewell.

I would you would accept of grace and love.

And maybe so we shall.

Pray God you do.