_Fairfax:_
Yes, but there it is. Skippon must cover it as he can. We have spoken of
it very exactly.

_Ireton:_
If either wing of our horse breaks, it means certain disaster there,
even though Skippon could hold in the centre.

_Fairfax:_
That's Cromwell again. And all to satisfy the pride of a few useless
members that his self-denying ordinance keeps out of command.

_Staines:_
Do you think it's that, sir?

_Fairfax:_
What else? They are more jealous that he should come to no more honour
than that we should succeed. And after all that has been given.

_Ireton:_
The blood.

_Pemberton:_
It is abominable.

_Fairfax:_
But there--we must not distress ourselves. We have our own loyalty. Keep
in touch with Skippon, Staines. If you can push their right foot up
towards Sibbertoft there, spare nothing in the doing. Have you all
slept, gentlemen?