Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;

The common people by numbers swarm to us.

But see where Somerset and Clarence comes.

Speak suddenly, my lords: are we all friends?

Fear not that, my lord.

Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;

And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice

To rest mistrustful where a noble heart

Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love;

Else might I think that Clarence, Edward’s brother,

Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings.

But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine.

And now what rests but, in night’s coverture,

Thy brother being carelessly encamped,

His soldiers lurking in the towns about,

And but attended by a simple guard,

We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?

Our scouts have found the adventure very easy;

That, as Ulysses and stout Diomede

With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus’ tents,

And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds,

So we, well covered with the night’s black mantle,

At unawares may beat down Edward’s guard,

And seize himself. I say not, slaughter him,

For I intend but only to surprise him.

You that will follow me to this attempt,

Applaud the name of Henry with your leader.

Why then, let’s on our way in silent sort,

For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George!