to-morrow. Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. Ratcliff! My lord? Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland? Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine: I have not that alacrity of spirit, Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. Set it down. Is ink and paper ready? It is, my lord. Bid my guard watch; leave me. Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm! All comfort that the dark night can afford Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! Tell me, how fares our loving mother? I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother Who prays continually for Richmond's good: So much for that. The silent hours steal on, And flaky darkness breaks within the east. In brief,--for so the season bids us be,-- Prepare thy battle early in the morning, And put thy fortune to the arbitrement Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,-- With best advantage will deceive the time, And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: But on thy side I may not be too forward Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, Be executed in his father's sight. Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love And ample interchange of sweet discourse, Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon: God give us leisure for these rites of love! Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well! Good lords, conduct him to his regiment: I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap, Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, When I should mount with wings of victory: Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. O Thou, whose captain I account myself, Look on my forces with a gracious eye; Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall The usurping helmets of our adversaries! Make us thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise thee in the victory! To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes: Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth At Tewksbury: despair, therefore, and