ACTON.
Why, who but he shall be our General?

MURLEY.
And shall he knight me, and make me colonel?

ACTON.
My word for that: sir William Murley, knight.

MURLEY.
Fellow sir Roger Acton, knight, all fellows--I mean
in arms--how strong are we? how many partners? Our
enemies beside the King are might: be it more or less
upon occasion, reckon our force.

ACTON.
There are of us, our friends, and followers,
Three thousand and three hundred at the least;
Of northern lads four thousand, beside horse;
>From Kent there comes with sir John Old-castle
Seven thousand; then from London issue out,
Of masters, servants, strangers, prentices,
Forty odd thousands into Ficket field,
Where we appoint our special rendezvous.

MURLEY.
Fue, paltry, paltry, in and out, to and fro! Lord have
mercy upon us, what a world is this! Where's that
Ficket field, sir Roger?