195 In every borough as we pass along;
[♦] And he that throws not up his cap for joy
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
[♦] King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,
200 But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us!