I see it nearing now, leaping the waves,
On, on, and none to meet it! Cowards all.
What do ye here, ye three, loitering about
A sick man's bed? A man almost a corpse.
I would not have a servant waste himself
To give me drink while England needs his sword.
Rich. My father lord, we have our men abroad
Rousing the country for a stout defence.
To meet the French with our poor ships were madness;
But let them land we'll give them such a rap——