Mess.
My lord, here are letters for you.

Hot.
I cannot read them now.
O Gentlemen, the time of life is short,
To spend that shortness basely were too long,
Tho' life did ride upon a dial's point,
Still ending at th' arrival of an hour.
And if we live, we live to tread on Kings;
If die; brave death, when Princes die with us!
Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair,
When the intent for bearing them is just.

Enter another Messenger.

Mess.
My lord, prepare, the King comes on apace.

Hot.
I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale,
For I profess not talking; only this,
Let each man do his best. And here draw I
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal,
In the adventure of this perilous day.
^{3 note}Now, Esperanza! Percy! and set on;
Sound all the lofty Instruments of war,
And by that musick let us all embrace,
^{4 note}For, heav'n to earth, some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesie. [They embrace, then exeunt. The Trumpets sound.

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