Scene Two
[A Plain in Warwickshire]
Enter Warwick and Oxford in England, with French Soldiers.
War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well;
The common people by numbers swarm to us.
Enter Clarence and Somerset.
But see where Somerset and Clarence comes!
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends? 4
Clar. Fear not that, my lord.
War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick;
And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice,
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 8
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love;
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings:
But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. 12
And now what rests, but in night's coverture,
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd,
His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
And but attended by a simple guard, 16
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy:
That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede,
With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents,20
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds;
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
4 suddenly: quickly
5 Fear: doubt
13 rests: remains to be done
in . . . coverture: under cover of night
20 sleight: craft
21 Thracian . . . steeds; cf. n.
