MURLEY. Mary, God dild ye, dainty my dear! But tell me, who shall be our General? Where’s the lord Cobham, sir John Old-castle, That noble alms-giver, housekeeper, virtuous, Religious gentleman? Come to me there, boys, Come to me there! ACTON. Why, who but he shall be our General? MURLEY. And shall he knight me, and make me colonel? ACTON. My word for that: sir William Murley, knight. MURLEY. Fellow sir Roger Acton, knight, all fellows—I mean in arms—how strong are we? how many partners? Our enemies beside the King are might: be it more or less upon occasion, reckon our force. ACTON. There are of us, our friends, and followers, Three thousand and three hundred at the least; Of northern lads four thousand, beside horse; >From Kent there comes with sir John Old-castle Seven thousand; then from London issue out, Of masters, servants, strangers, prentices, Forty odd thousands into Ficket field, Where we appoint our special rendezvous. MURLEY. Fue, paltry, paltry, in and out, to and fro! Lord have mercy upon us, what a world is this! Where’s that Ficket field, sir Roger? ACTON. Behind saint Giles in the field near Holborne. MURLEY. Newgate, up Holborne, S. Giles in the field, and to Tiborne: an old saw. For the day, for the day? ACTON. On Friday next, the fourteenth day of January. MURLEY. Tyllie vallie, trust me never if I have any liking of that day! fue, paltry, paltry! Friday, quoth a! Dismal day! Childermass day this year was Friday. BEVERLY. Nay, master Murley, if you observe the days, We make some question of your constancy. All days are like to men resolved in right. MURLEY. Say Amen, and say no more; but say, and hold, master Beverly: Friday next, and Ficket field, and William Murley, and his merry men shall be all one. I have half a score jades that draw my beer carts, And every jade shall bear a knave, And every knave shall wear a jack, And every jack shall have a skull, And every skull shall shew a spear, And every spear shall kill a foe At Ficket field, at Ficket field. John and Tom, and Dick and Hodge, And Rafe and Robin, William & George, And all my knaves shall fight like men, At Ficket field on Friday next. BOURNE. What sum of money mean you to disburse? MURLEY. It may be modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely I may bring five hundred pound. ACTON. Five hundred, man! five thousand’s not enough! A hundred thousand will not pay our men Two months together. Either come prepared Like a brave Knight, and martial Colonel, In glittering gold, and gallant furniture, Bringing in coin a cart load at he least, And all your followers mounted on good horse, Or never come disgraceful to us all. BEVERLY. Perchance you may be chosen Treasurer. Ten thousand pound’s the least that you can bring.