GHOST.
See how the traitor doth presage his harm,
See how he glories at his own decay,
See how he triumphs at his proper loss;
O fortune wild, unstable, fickle, frail!

HUMBER.
Me thinks I see both armies in the field:
The broken lances climb the crystal skies;
Some headless lie, some breathless on the ground,
And every place is strewed with carcasses.
Behold! the grass hath lost his pleasant green,
The sweetest sight that ever might be see.

GHOST.
Aye, traitorous Humber, thou shalt find it so.
Yea, to thy cost thou shalt the same behold,
With anguish, sorrow, and with sad laments.
The grassy plains, that now do please thine eyes,
Shall ere the night be coloured all with blood;
The shady groves which now inclose thy camp
And yield sweet savours to thy damned corps,
Shall ere the night be figured all with blood:
The profound stream, that passeth by thy tents,
And with his moisture serveth all thy camp,
Shall ere the night converted be to blood,--
Yea, with the blood of those thy straggling boys;
For now revenge shall ease my lingering grief,
And now revenge shall glut my longing soul.