Hen.
Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
Bruis'd 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, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoils ^note your summer fields ^note, and fruitful vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
In your embowel'd bosoms,—this foul swine
Lies now ^note even in the center ^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, chearly on ^note, courageous friends,
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

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

Her.
I doubt not, but his friends will turn to ^note us.

Blu.
He hath no friends, but who are ^note friends for fear;
Which, in his dearest need, will fly ^note from him.

Hen.
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, marching. 14Q0896

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