The horse entirely are your command now.
_Ireton:_
Whalley on the right, and you, Pemberton.
_Fairfax:_
What's the hour?
_Staines:_
Six o'clock, sir.
_Fairfax:_
They have had three hours. Let the army sleep till ten if it may be.
_Staines:_
Yes, sir.
_Ireton:_
Are you satisfied about those footmen on the left, sir?
_Fairfax:_
No, not satisfied. But we cannot better it.
_Pemberton:_
Rupert is almost certain to see the weakness there.
_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.
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