War.
Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
The common people swarm by numbers to us. Enter Clarence and Somerset.
But see, where Somerset and Clarence come;
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?

Clar.
Fear not that, my lord.

War.
Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardise
To rest mistrustful, where a noble heart
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love.
Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings.
But welcome, friend, my daughter shall be thine.
And now what rests, but in night's overture ^note,
Thy brother being carelesly encamp'd,
His soldiers lurking in the (a) ^note towns about,
And but attended by a simple guard,

We may surprize and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found th' adventure very easie:
That as Ulysses and stout Diomede
With slight and manhood stole to Rhesus' Tents,
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds;
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard,
And seize himself: I say not, slaughter him;
For I intend but only to surprize him;
You, that will follow me to this attempt,
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. [They all cry, Henry!
Why then, let's on our way in silent sort,
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! [Exeunt.

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