Y. Mor. My uncle's taken prisoner by the Scots.
Lan. We'll have him ransomed, man; be of good cheer.
Y. Mor. They rate his ransom at five thousand pound. Who should defray the money but the king, Seeing he is taken prisoner in his wars? I'll to the king.
Lan. Do, cousin, and I'll bear thee company.
War. Meantime, my lord of Pembroke and myself120 Will to Newcastle here, and gather head.
Y. Mor. About it then, and we will follow you.
Lan. Be resolute and full of secrecy.
War. I warrant you. [Exit with Pembroke.
Y. Mor. Cousin, and if he will not ransom him, I'll thunder such a peal into his ears, As never subject did unto his king. [223]
Lan. Content, I'll bear my part—Holla! whose there? [Guard appears. Enter Guard.