human
I have urgent news for you,
gpt
Not so urgent but a kerchief could put it out of mind. But come indoors, lest a snowstorm of such favours buries you. You’ll have many such storms, I hazard—you, with your big laugh and your air of must-be-obeyed.
human
A man rode in an hour ago from York. The garrison there is near to famine. They’re besieged by three armies—Lord Fairfax at Walmgate Bar, my Lord Manchester at Bootham Bar, and the Scots at Micklegate. My father sends me with the message, and asks if you can spare the Riding Metcalfs for a gallop.
gpt
Six-score to meet three armies?
human
If luck goes that way.
gpt
My husband is of your good breed, sir. I gave him to the King, so I must spare my six-foot Metcalfs to the cause.