[A Knight enters the Tent.
If on the border
Of England, here, we cut but boldly through
The troops opposed to intercept our passage,
The afterwork is easy:—
Where's my young son!—then, like a rolling flood,
That once has broke its mound, we'll pour upon
The affrighted country, sweeping all before
Our flood of power, till we penetrate
The very heart on't.——