Adeline. Then, you are weary of my service—you wish you had not followed me.
Gregory. Who I? Heaven forbid!—I'd follow you to the end of the world:—nay, for that matter, I believe I shall follow you there; for I have tramped after you a deuced long way, without knowing where we are going. But I'd live, ay, and die for you too.
Adeline. Well, well; we must to the wars, my good fellow.
Gregory. The wars! O lud! that's taking me at my word with a vengeance! I never could abide fighting—there's something so plaguy quarrelsome in it.
Adeline. Then you had best return. We now, Gregory, are approaching King Henry's camp.
Gregory. Are we? Oh dear, oh dear! Pray, then, let us wheel about as fast as we can.
Adeline. Don't you observe the light breaking through the tents yonder?
Gregory. Mercy on me! they are tents, sure enough! Come, madam, let's be going, if you please.
Adeline. Why, whither should I go, poor simpleton? My home is wretchedness. The wars I seek have made it so; they have robbed me of my husband; comfort now is lost to me. Oh! Gondibert, too faithful to a weak cause, our ruin is involved with our betters!
Gregory. Oh, rot the cause, say I! Plague on the House of Lancaster! it has been many a noble gentleman's undoing. The white and red roses have caused more eyes to water in England, than if we had planted the whole island with onions. Such a coil kept up with their two houses!—one's so old and t'other's so old!—they ought both to be pulled down, for a couple of nuisances to the nation.