 | Sir Anthony Moore |  |
SCENE III.
Benendine Castle.Moore and Page.
Moore.
The time moves heavily!—Are all my halls
And bowers richly bedight?
Page.
They are, my lord.
Moore.
And all my yeomen ready to take horse?
Page.
They're all array'd and tending in the court
With arm on mane.
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How bears my milk-white steed his new array,
His side-saddle and belts?
Page.
He stands caparison'd in burning gold
And broider'd silk, much wondering at himself.
But ah, how proud!—It is a noble beast!
Moore.
'Tis now high noon, and not a word from Collier!
Nor know I yet the route that we must take!
I cannot brook this pause!—Mount and away;
By the Cross-church we ride, belike that way
We'll meet himself or messenger.
| Sir Anthony Moore | |