Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground
And dash themselves to pieces.
Enter a Messenger.[3996]
Hast. Now, what news?
Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile,
In goodly form comes on the enemy;20
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand.
Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them out.
Let us sway on and face them in the field.[3997]
Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here?25
Enter Westmoreland.[3998]
Mowb. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland.
West. Health and fair greeting from our general,
The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster.
Arch. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace:[3999]
What doth concern your coming?[3999]