I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
285 Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me
More than to Richmond? for the selfsame heaven
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.
Re-enter NORFOLK.
[♦] Nor. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.
K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle. Caparison my horse.
290 Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,
And thus my battle shall be ordered: