They course your troops, and dreadful is the carnage.
Vor. Where are my sons?
1st Bar. Let not your tongue curse me when I shall say.
Vor. Speak, quick!
1st Bar. With all their troops they join’d the enemy,
And bore with them their mother.
Enter Officer.
Vor. Well, sir; and what more tidings do you bring?
Off. To London’s lofty walls they’ve follow’d us.
Vor. I care not an’ they follow’d to the grave.