Sir Peter.
Outside,
I'll talk with him, close by the gate St. Ives.
Is he unarm'd?
John Curzon.
Yea, sir, in a long gown.
Sir Peter.
Then bid them bring me hither my furr'd gown
With the long sleeves, and under it I'll wear,
By Lambert's leave, a secret coat of mail;
And will you lend me, John, your little axe?
I mean the one with Paul wrought on the blade?
And I will carry it inside my sleeve,
Good to be ready always; you, John, go
And bid them set up many suits of arms,
Bows, archgays, lances, in the base-court, and
Yourself, from the south postern setting out,
With twenty men, be ready to break through
Their unguarded rear when I cry out, St. George!
John Curzon.
How, sir! will you attack him unawares,
And slay him unarm'd?
Sir Peter.
Trust me, John, I know
The reason why he comes here with sleeved gown,