_Enter HARRISON, L., hurriedly._

_Har._ I fear they will not sally forth; our host
Meanwhile will melt away. Despondency
Sits heavy on my soul.

[_Firing is heard from the town._]

_Ire._ If they abide
In York, we'd best draw off. [_Exit ARTHUR, L._]

_Crom._ But Rupert! Rupert!
Wilt he not fight--The fiery-headed fool
Will rush out on us from yon fenced town,
And then--Whom have we here?

[_An Orderly hastens in._]

_Ord._ The earl doth bid you
Prepare for instant action; Rupert and Newcastle
Are forth outside the gates.

_Crom._ Said I not so?--
Their hearts are hardened by the Lord of hosts.
[_Musketry in the distance._] [_To an officer entering._]
Did you not hear me when I said "Bring up the
fascines?" How shall we cross the ditch? Do you
not heed? Quick, man!