CAMBRIDGE. Besides, you must persuade ye, there is due Vengeance for Richard’s murder, which, although It be deferred, yet will it fall at last, And now as likely as another time. Sin hath had many years to ripen in, And now the harvest cannot be far off, Wherein the weeds of usurpation Are to be cropped, and cast into the fire. SCROOP. No more, earl Cambridge; here I plight my faith, To set up thee and thy renowned wife. GRAY. Gray will perform the same, as he is knight. CHARTRES. And to assist ye, as I said before, Charters doth gage the honor of his king. SCROOP. We lack but now Lord Cobham’s fellowship, And then our plot were absolute indeed. CAMBRIDGE. Doubt not of him, my lord; his life’s pursued By the incensed Clergy, and of late, Brought in displeasure with the king, assures He may be quickly won unto our faction. Who hath the articles were drawn at large Of our whole purpose? GRAY. That have I, my Lord. CAMBRIDGE. We should not now be far off from his house; Our serious conference hath beguiled the way. See where his castle stands. Give me the writing. When we are come unto the speech of him, Because we will not stand to make recount, Of that which hath been said, here he shall read [Enter Cobham.] Our minds at large, and what we crave of him. SCROOP. A ready way. Here comes the man himself, Booted and spurred; it seems he hath been riding. CAMBRIDGE. Well met, lord Cobham. COBHAM. My lord of Cambridge? Your honor is most welcome into Kent, And all the rest of this fair company. I am new come from London, gentle Lords; But will ye not take Cowling for your host, And see what entertainment it affords? CAMBRIDGE. We were intended to have been your guests: But now this lucky meeting shall suffice To end our business, and defer that kindness. COBHAM. Business, my lord? what business should you have But to be merry? We have no delicates, But this I’ll promise you: a piece of venison, A cup of wine, and so forth—hunters’ fare; And if you please, we’ll strike the stag our selves Shall fill our dishes with his well-fed flesh. SCROOP. That is, indeed, the thing we all desire. COBHAM. My lords and you shall have your choice with me. CAMBRIDGE. Nay, but the stag which we desire to strike Lives not in Cowling; if you will consent, And go with us, we’ll bring you to a forest, Where runs a lusty herd; amongst the which There is a stag superior to the rest, A stately beast that, when his fellows run, He leads the race, and beats the sullen earth, As though he scorned it, with his trampling hooves. Aloft he bears his head, and with his breast, Like a huge bulwark, counter-checks the wind: And when he standeth still, he stretcheth forth His proud ambitious neck, as if he meant To wound the firmament with forked horns. COBHAM. Tis pity such a goodly beast should die.