COBHAM.
I humbly bid farewell unto my liege.
[Exit.]
KING.
Farewell.—What’s the news by Huntington?
HUNTINGTON.
Sir Roger Acton and a crew, my Lord,
Of bold seditious rebels are in Arms,
Intending reformation of Religion.
And with their Army they intend to pitch
In Ficket field, unless they be repulsed.
KING.
So near our presence? Dare they be so bold?
And will proud war, and eager thirst of blood,
Whom we had thought to entertain far off,
Press forth upon us in our native bounds?
Must we be forced to hansell our sharp blades
In England here, which we prepared for France?
Well, a God’s name be it! What’s their number, say,
Or who’s the chief commander of this rout?
HUNTINGTON.
Their number is not known, as yet, my Lord,
But tis reported Sir John Old-castle
Is the chief man on whom they do depend.
KING.
How, the Lord Cobham?
HUNTINGTON.
Yes, my gracious Lord.
BISHOP.
I could have told your majesty as much
Before he went, but that I saw your Grace
Was too much blinded by his flattery.
SUFFOLK.
Send post, my Lord, to fetch him back again.