Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn:
From Tamworth thither is but one day’s march.
[♦] In God’s name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
15 To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
[♦] Oxf. Every man’s conscience is a thousand swords,
[♦] To fight against that bloody homicide.
[♦] Herb. I doubt not but his friends will fly to us.
[20] Blunt. He hath no friends but who are friends for fear,
[♦] Which in his greatest need will shrink from him.