Richm.
Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny,
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The wretched ^note, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoil'd ^note your summer fields ^note and fruitful vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes ^note his trough
In your embowell'd bosoms ^note, this foul swine
Lies now ^note even in the centre ^note of this isle,
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn:
From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.
In God's name, cheerly ^note on, courageous friends,
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

Oxf. ^note
Every man's conscience is a thousand swords ^note,
To fight against that bloody ^note homicide.

Herb. ^note
I doubt not but his friends will fly ^note to us.

Blunt. ^note
He hath no friends but who ^note are friends for fear,

Which in his greatest ^note need will shrink ^note from him.

Richm.
All for our vantage ^note. Then, in God's name, march:
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
Kings it makes ^note gods, and meaner creatures kings. [Exeunt. ^{note note}

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