_My tight fellow soldiers, prepare for your foes;_ _Fight away, for the cause of the jolly Red Rose;_ _Never flinch while you live; should you meet with your death,_ _There's no fear that you'll run--you'll be quite out of breath._ _Then be true to your colours, the Lancasters chose,_ _And the laurel entwine with the jolly Red Rose._

Chorus. _Then be true, &c._

_He who follows for honour the drum and the fife,_ _May perhaps have the luck to get honour for life;_ _And he who, for money, makes fighting his trade,_ _Let him now face the foe, he'll be handsomely paid._

_Then be true, &c._

_The fight fairly done, my brave boys of the blade,_ _How we'll talk, o'er our cups, of the havock we've made!_ _How we'll talk, if we once kill a captain or two,_ _Of a hundred more fellows, that n.o.body knew._ _Then my tight fellow soldiers prepare for your foes._ _And the laurel entwine with the jolly Red Rose._

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

_Outside of the Royal Tent._

_Enter FOOL._

_Fool._ Queen Margaret has sheltered me from the peltings of fortune, this many a year. Now the pelting has damaged my shelter; but still I stick to it. More simpleton I!--to stand, like a thin-clad b.o.o.by, in a hard shower, under an unroofed penthouse. Truly, for a fool of my experience, I have but little wisdom: and yet a camp suits well with my humour; take away the fighting--the sleeping in a field--the bad fare--the long marches, and the short pay--and a soldier's is a rare merry life.--Here come two more musterers--troth we have need of them--for, considering the goodness of the cause, they drop in as sparingly as mites into a poor's box.

_Enter ADELINE and GREGORY._

_Adeline._ Tremble not now, Gregory, for your life!

_Gregory._ Lord, madam, that is the only thing I do tremble for: if I had as many lives as a cat, I must borrow a tenth, I fancy, to carry me out of this place.

_Adeline._ Pooh! pr'ythee--we are here among friends. Did you not mark the courtesy of the centinels; who, upon signifying our intentions, bid us pa.s.s on, till we should find a leader, to whom we might tender our services?

_Gregory._ Ah! and there he is, I suppose. [_Pointing to the FOOL._]

Mercy on us! he's a terrible looking fellow--his coat has been so pepper'd with musket shot in the wars, that 'tis patch'd from the very top to the bottom.

_Adeline._ Tut, tut, man! your fears have made you blind; this motley gentleman's occupation has nothing terrible in it, I'll answer for it--we will accost him. How now, fellow?

_Fool._ How now, fool?

_Adeline._ What, sirrah? call you me fool?

_Fool._ 'Faith may I, sir; when you call me fellow. Hail to you, sir, you are very well met. Nay you need not be ashamed of me for a companion; simple though I seem, we fools come of a great family, with a number of rich relations.

_Adeline._ Why do you follow the camp, fool?

_Fool._ For the same reason that a blind beggar follows his dog;--though it may lead me where my neck may be broke, I can't get on in the world without it. You, sir, I take it, are come, like me, to shoot your bolt at the enemy?

_Adeline._ I come, partly, indeed, among other purposes, to offer my weak aid to the army.

_Fool._ Your weakness, sir, acts marvellously wisely: you'll be the clean-shaved Nestor of the regiment.

_Adeline._ If I could find your leader, I would vouch, too, for the integrity of this my follower, to be received into the ranks.

_Gregory._ Oh no, you need not put yourself to the trouble of vouching for me.

_Fool._ Right; for your knave, when great folks have occasion for him, is received with little inquiry into his character. Marry, let an honest man lack their a.s.sistance, and starving stares him in the face, for want of a recommendation.

_Adeline._ Lead us to your General, and you shall be well remember'd by me.

_Fool._ Why, as to a General, I can stand you in little stead; but if such a simple thing as a Queen can content you, I am your only man: for being a proper fellow, and a huge tickler up of a lady's fancy, I may chance to push your fortune as far as another. Truly, you fell into good hands when you stumbled on me. [_Flourish._] Stand back, here comes royalty.

_Enter QUEEN MARGARET, DUKE OF SOMERSET, LA VARENNE, SENESCHAL OF NORMANDY, with KNIGHTS and SOLDIERS, from the Tent._

_Som._ Here, if it please you, madam, we'll debate.

Our tented councils but disturb the King, And break his pious meditations.

_Marg._ True, Duke of Somerset; for some there are Who, idly stretch'd upon the bank of life, Sleep till the stream runs dry.--Is't not vexatious, That frolic nature, as it were, in mockery, Should in the rough, and l.u.s.ty mould of manhood, Encrust a feeble mind!--Well, upon me Must rest the load of war.--a.s.sist me, then, Ye powers of just revenge! fix deep the memory Of injured majesty! heat my glowing fancy With all the glittering pride of high dominion; That, when we meet the traitors who usurp it, My breast shall swell with manly indignation, And spur me on to enterprise.

_La Var._ Oh! happy The knight who wields his sword for such a mistress.

I cannot but be proud! When late, in Normandy, Your grace demanded succour of my countrymen, And beauty in distress shone like the sun Piercing a summer's cloud--then--then was I The honour'd cavalier a royal lady Chose, from the flower of our n.o.bility, To right her cause, and punish her oppressors.

_Marg._ Thanks, La Varenne; our cause is bound to you; And my particular bond of obligation Is stamp'd, my lord, with the warm seal of grat.i.tude.

Yours is a high and gallant spirit, lord!

Impatient of inaction, even in peace It manifests its owner: for, I found you, In fertile France, (that nurse of courtesy) Our s.e.x's foremost champion;--in the tournament Bearing away the prize, that you might lay it At some fair lady's feet: thus, in rehearsal, Training the martial mind to feats of chivalry; That, when occasion call'd for real service, It ever was found ready--witness the troops You lead to action.--Say, lords, think you not That these, our high-bred Normans, mingled with Our hardy Scottish friends, like fire in flint, Will, when the iron hand of battle strikes, Produce such hot and vivid sparks of valour, That the pale House of York, aghast with fear, Shall perish in the flame it rashly kindled?

_La Var._ No doubt, no doubt!

'Would that the time were come, when our bright swords Shall end the contest! Since I pledged myself To fight this cause, delay's as irksome to me, As to the mettled boy, contracted to The nymph he burns for, when cold blooded age Procrastinates the marriage ceremony.

_Marg._ The time's at hand, my lord; the enemy, Hearing of succours daily flocking to us, Is marching, as I gather, towards our camp-- Therefore, good Seneschal, look to our troops: Keep all our men in readiness;--ride thro' the ranks, And cheer the soldiery.--Come, bustle, bustle.

Oh! we'll not fail, I warrant!--How now, sirrah?

How came you here? [_To the FOOL._

_Fool._ w.i.l.l.y nilly, madam, as the thief came to the gallows. I am a modest guest here, madam, with a poor stomach for fighting, and need a deal of pressing before I fall to. When Providence made plumbers, it did wisely to leave me out of the number; for, Heaven knows, I take but little delight in lead: but here are two who come to traffic in that commodity. [_Points to ADELINE and GREGORY._

_Marg._ How mean you, sir? What are these men?

_Fool._ Swelling spirits, madam, with shrunk fortunes, as I take it;--as painful to the owners, as your gouty leg in a tight boot: but if a man's word be not taken in the world, he's forced to come to blows to keep up a reputation. Poverty without spirit lets in the frost upon him worse than a crazy portal at Christmas; so here are a couple of warped doors in the foul weather of adversity, madam, who want to be listed.

_Marg._ I never saw a youth of better promise: But say, young man, serve you here willingly In these our wars? [_To ADELINE._

_Adeline._ Yes, madam, if it please you; And, if my youth should lack ability, I do beseech you, let my honest will Atone for its defect:--yet I will say-- And yet I would not boast--that a weak boy May show you that he is zealous in your service: For tho' but green in years, alas! misfortune Has sorely wrung my heart!--and the proud world, (I blush for't, while I utter it)--must know What 'tis to suffer, ere its thoughtless breast, Callous in happiness, can warm with feeling For others in distress.

_Marg._ Poor youth! I pity thee.

And for thy willingness, which I esteem In friendly working more than if thou brought'st The strength of Hercules to nerve our battle, Should the just Heavens smile on our enterprise, I will not, trust me, youth, forget thee.--

_Enter a MESSENGER._

Now the news!

_Mess._ The enemy approaches. On the brow Of the next hill, rising a short mile hence, Their colours wave.

_La Var._ Now then for the issue!