[♦] Might happily have proved far worse than his.
[♦] York. What, worse than nought? nay, then, a shame take all!
Som. And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!
Car. My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
310 The uncivil kernes of Ireland are in arms
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:
To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
[♦] Collected choicely, from each county some,
And try your hap against the Irishmen?
315 York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty.