The worthyest things make not the bravest show:
The shott was easy; and what concernes us more,
The way was so; mine host doth ride before.
Mine host was full of ale and history;
And on the morrow when hee brought us nigh
Where the two Roses[103] joyn’d, you would suppose,
Chaucer nere made the Romant of the Rose.
Heare him. See yee yon wood? There Richard lay,
With his whole army: Looke the other way,
And loe where Richmond in a bed of gorsse