_Gregory._ I shall never know how to set about the business I am put upon. Of all the sports of the field, I never went a man shooting before in my life:--and, yet, when the lady, with the brass bason on her head, begins to talk big, there is a warm glow about one, that--gad! I begin to think 'tis courage;--for I don't know how to describe it; and never felt any thing like it before. [_Alarm._] Zouns! no it e'n't--if it is, my courage is of a plaguy hot nature; for the very sound of a battle has thrown me into a perspiration. Oh! my poor mistress's man! Oh! I wish we were at home, and I was comfortably laid up in our damp garret, with a fine twinging fit of the rheumatism. [_Huzza._] Mercy on us!--here's a whole posse, too, coming the other way. I'm in for it! but, if there is such a thing as the protecting mantle they talk'd of, I hope 'tis a pure large one; and there'll be room enough to lap up me, and my mistress in the tail on't. [_Exit._ SCENE IV. _The Field._ _Enter LA VARENNE, followed by the FOOL._ _La Var._ Death and shame! Are these the rough, and hardy northern men, That were to back my Normans? Why, they fly, Like skimming shadows, o'er a mountain's side, Chased by the sun. _Fool._ True; the heat of the battle is too strong for their cold constitutions. _La Var._ Here, sirrah, take this token to the King:-- Go with your utmost speed: entreat him, quickly, To bring his forces in reserve. This effort Restores, or kills, our hope.--Yet I'll fight all out; I'll shake these pillars of the White-rose House Till the whole building totters, tho' its fall Should crush me in the ruins. [_Exit._ _Fool._ Well said, Sampson--that's a bold fellow, and I'm on his side. Red roses for ever! _Enter a SOLDIER, of the White Rose Party._ _Soldier._ Now, fellow, speak! tell me who you fight for. _Fool._ Marry, will I, very willingly. Pray canst tell who has the best of the battle? _Soldier._ The White Rose, to be sure: we are the strongest. _Fool._ Thank you, friend: pass on--I'm on your side. [_Exit SOLDIER._] A low clown, now, might stagger at this shifting; but your true, court-bred fool, always cuts the cloth of his conscience to the fashion of the times. [_Exit._ _Enter GREGORY and ADELINE, hastily._ _Gregory._ Run, run, madam! follow a blockhead's advice, and run, or 'tis all over with us. _Adeline._ Whither shall I fly! Fatigue and despair so wear and press me, I scarcely know what course to take. _Gregory._ Take to your legs, madam! Get on now, or we shall never be able to get off. Come, my dear, good, Lady Adeline! Lord! Lord! only to see now, what little resolution people have, that they can't run away when there's danger. [_Shout._] Plague on your shouting! Since they must make soldiers of us--the light troops against the field, say I! [_Exit, running, followed by ADELINE._