King. Let's leuie men, and beat him backe againe
Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out,
Which being suffer'd, Riuers cannot quench
War. In Warwickshire I haue true-hearted friends,
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in Warre,
Those will I muster vp: and thou Sonne Clarence
Shalt stirre vp in Suffolke, Norfolke, and in Kent,
The Knights and Gentlemen, to come with thee.
Thou Brother Mountague, in Buckingham,
Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find
Men well enclin'd to heare what thou command'st.
And thou, braue Oxford, wondrous well belou'd,
In Oxfordshire shalt muster vp thy friends.
My Soueraigne, with the louing Citizens,
Like to his Iland, gyrt in with the Ocean,
Or modest Dyan, circled with her Nymphs,
Shall rest in London, till we come to him:
Faire Lords take leaue, and stand not to reply.
Farewell my Soueraigne
King. Farewell my Hector, and my Troyes true hope
Clar. In signe of truth, I kisse your Highnesse Hand
King. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate
Mount. Comfort, my Lord, and so I take my leaue
Oxf. And thus I seale my truth, and bid adieu
King. Sweet Oxford, and my louing Mountague,
And all at once, once more a happy farewell
War. Farewell, sweet Lords, let's meet at Couentry.