Now that our fortune heaves us up thus high,
And heavens themselves renew our old renown,
Must we be dar’d? Nay, let that princock come,
That knows not yet himself, nor Arthur’s force;
That ne’er yet waged wars; that’s yet to learn
To give the charge: yea, let that princock come,
With sudden soldiers pamper’d up in peace,
And gowned troops and wantons worn with ease;
With sluggish Saxons’ crew and Irish kerns,
And Scottish aid, and false redshanked Picts,