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 cowardize
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 coverture,
Thy brother being carelesly encamp'd,
His soldiers lurking in the town 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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