battle ends May, even in their wives' and children's sight, Be hang'd up for example at their doors: And you that be the king's friends, follow me. And you that love the commons, follow me. Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty. We will not leave one lord, one gentleman: Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon; For they are thrifty honest men, and such As would, but that they dare not, take our parts. They are all in order and march toward us. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come, march forward. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford? Here, sir. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house: 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; 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. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind, And makes it fearful and degenerate; Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep. But who can cease to weep and look on this? Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: But where's the body that I should embrace? What answer makes your grace to the rebels' supplication? I'll send some holy bishop to entreat; For God forbid so many simple souls Should perish by the sword! And I myself, Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, Will parley with Jack Cade their general: But stay, I'll read it over once again. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me, And could it not enforce them to relent, That were unworthy to behold the same? Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his. How now, madam! Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death? I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee. How now! what news?