'Would that the time were come, when our bright swords
Shall end the contest! Since I pledged myself
To fight this cause, delay's as irksome to me,
As to the mettled boy, contracted to
The nymph he burns for, when cold blooded age
Procrastinates the marriage ceremony.
Marg. The time's at hand, my lord; the enemy,
Hearing of succours daily flocking to us,
Is marching, as I gather, towards our camp—
Therefore, good Seneschal, look to our troops: