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 to-morrow in the battle Which of us fears. Yea, or to-night. Content. To-night, say I. Come, come it nay 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 of 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