God knows I fear nothing a man ought not to fear--he is my witness--but what good service of arms have I yet rendered my king?
It is but thy face, Peggy, that draws the smile from me.

My heart is heavy.
See how my rascally Welsh yielded before Gloucester, when the rogue Waller stole a march upon them--and I must be from thence! Had I but been there instead of at Oxford, thinkest thou they would have laid down their arms nor struck a single blow?
I like not killing, but I can kill, and I can be killed.

Thou knowest, sweet wife, thy Ned would not run.' 'Holy mother!' exclaimed lady Margaret.
'But I have no good luck at fighting,' he went on.

'And how again at Monmouth, the hare-hearts with which I had thought to garrison the place fled at the bare advent of that same parliament beagle, Waller! By St.
George! it were easier to make an engine that should mow down a thousand brave men with one sweep of a scythe--and I could make it--than to put courage into the heart of one runaway rascal.

It makes me mad to think how they have disgraced me!' 'But Monmouth is thine own again, Herbert!' 'Yes--thanks to the love they bear my father, not to my generalship! Thy husband is a poor soldier, Peggy: he cannot make soldiers.' 'Then why not leave the field to others, and labour at thy engines, love?
If thou wilt, I tell thee what--I will doff my gown, and in wrapper and petticoat help thee, sweet.