Where’s Dick, the butcher of Ashford?

Here, sir.

They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behaved’st thyself

as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughterhouse. Therefore thus will

I reward thee: the Lent shall be as long again as it is, and thou shalt

have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking one.

I desire no more.

And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This monument of the

victory will I bear. [_putting on Sir Humphrey’s brigandine_] And the

bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till I do come to London,

where we will have the Mayor’s sword borne before us.

If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols and let out the

prisoners.

Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let’s march towards London.