Edw. And in this resolution, I defie thee,
Not willing any longer Conference,
Since thou denied'st the gentle King to speake.
Sound Trumpets, let our bloody Colours waue,
And either Victorie, or else a Graue

   Qu. Stay Edward

   Ed. No wrangling Woman, wee'l no longer stay,
These words will cost ten thousand liues this day.

Exeunt. omnes.

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwicke.

  War. Fore-spent with Toile, as Runners with a Race,
I lay me downe a little while to breath:
For strokes receiu'd, and many blowes repaid,
Haue robb'd my strong knit sinewes of their strength,
And spight of spight, needs must I rest a-while.
Enter Edward running.

  Ed. Smile gentle heauen, or strike vngentle death,
For this world frownes, and Edwards Sunne is clowded

   War. How now my Lord, what happe? what hope of
good?
Enter Clarence

   Cla. Our hap is losse, our hope but sad dispaire,
Our rankes are broke, and ruine followes vs.
What counsaile giue you? whether shall we flye?
  Ed. Bootlesse is flight, they follow vs with Wings,
And weake we are, and cannot shun pursuite.
Enter Richard.

  Rich. Ah Warwicke, why hast y withdrawn thy selfe?
Thy Brothers blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the Steely point of Cliffords Launce:
And in the very pangs of death, he cryde,
Like to a dismall Clangor heard from farre,
Warwicke, reuenge; Brother, reuenge my death.
So vnderneath the belly of their Steeds,
That stain'd their Fetlockes in his smoaking blood,
The Noble Gentleman gaue vp the ghost

   War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood:
Ile kill my Horse, because I will not flye:
Why stand we like soft-hearted women heere,
Wayling our losses, whiles the Foe doth Rage,
And looke vpon, as if the Tragedie
Were plaid in iest, by counterfetting Actors.
Heere on my knee, I vow to God aboue,
Ile neuer pawse againe, neuer stand still,
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
Or Fortune giuen me measure of Reuenge

   Ed. Oh Warwicke, I do bend my knee with thine,
And in this vow do chaine my soule to thine:
And ere my knee rise from the Earths cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter vp, and plucker downe of Kings:
Beseeching thee (if with thy will it stands)
That to my Foes this body must be prey,
Yet that thy brazen gates of heauen may ope,
And giue sweet passage to my sinfull soule.
Now Lords, take leaue vntill we meete againe,
Where ere it be, in heauen, or in earth

   Rich. Brother,
Giue me thy hand, and gentle Warwicke,
Let me imbrace thee in my weary armes:
I that did neuer weepe, now melt with wo,
That Winter should cut off our Spring-time so

   War. Away, away:
Once more sweet Lords farwell

   Cla. Yet let vs altogether to our Troopes,
And giue them leaue to flye, that will not stay:
And call them Pillars that will stand to vs:
And if we thriue, promise them such rewards
As Victors weare at the Olympian Games.
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts,
For yet is hope of Life and Victory:
Foreslow no longer, make we hence amaine.

Exeunt.

Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford.

  Rich. Now Clifford, I haue singled thee alone,
Suppose this arme is for the Duke of Yorke,
And this for Rutland, both bound to reuenge,
Wer't thou inuiron'd with a Brazen wall

   Clif. Now Richard, I am with thee heere alone,
This is the hand that stabb'd thy Father Yorke,
And this the hand, that slew thy Brother Rutland,
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death,
And cheeres these hands, that slew thy Sire and Brother,
To execute the like vpon thy selfe,
And so haue at thee.
They Fight, Warwicke comes, Clifford flies.

  Rich. Nay Warwicke, single out some other Chace,
For I my selfe will hunt this Wolfe to death.

Exeunt.

Alarum. Enter King Henry alone.

  Hen. This battell fares like to the mornings Warre,
When dying clouds contend, with growing light,
What time the Shepheard blowing of his nailes,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now swayes it this way, like a Mighty Sea,
Forc'd by the Tide, to combat with the Winde:
Now swayes it that way, like the selfe-same Sea,
Forc'd to retyre by furie of the Winde.
Sometime, the Flood preuailes; and than the Winde:
Now, one the better: then, another best;
Both tugging to be Victors, brest to brest:
Yet neither Conqueror, nor Conquered.
So is the equall poise of this fell Warre.
Heere on this Mole-hill will I sit me downe,
To whom God will, there be the Victorie:
For Margaret my Queene, and Clifford too
Haue chid me from the Battell: Swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead, if Gods good will were so;
For what is in this world, but Greefe and Woe.
Oh God! me thinkes it were a happy life,
To be no better then a homely Swaine,
To sit vpon a hill, as I do now,
To carue out Dialls queintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the Minutes how they runne:
How many makes the Houre full compleate,
How many Houres brings about the Day,
How many Dayes will finish vp the Yeare,
How many Yeares, a Mortall man may liue.
When this is knowne, then to diuide the Times:
So many Houres, must I tend my Flocke;
So many Houres, must I take my Rest:
So many Houres, must I Contemplate:
So many Houres, must I Sport my selfe:
So many Dayes, my Ewes haue bene with yong:
So many weekes, ere the poore Fooles will Eane:
So many yeares, ere I shall sheere the Fleece:
So Minutes, Houres, Dayes, Monthes, and Yeares,
Past ouer to the end they were created,
Would bring white haires, vnto a Quiet graue.
Ah! what a life were this? How sweet? how louely?
Giues not the Hawthorne bush a sweeter shade
To Shepheards, looking on their silly Sheepe,
Then doth a rich Imbroider'd Canopie
To Kings, that feare their Subiects treacherie?
Oh yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
And to conclude, the Shepherds homely Curds,
His cold thinne drinke out of his Leather Bottle,
His wonted sleepe, vnder a fresh trees shade,
All which secure, and sweetly he enioyes,
Is farre beyond a Princes Delicates:
His Viands sparkling in a Golden Cup,
His bodie couched in a curious bed,
When Care, Mistrust, and Treason waits on him.

Alarum. Enter a Sonne that hath kill'd his Father, at one doore: and
a
Father that hath kill'd his Sonne at another doore.

  Son. Ill blowes the winde that profits no body,
This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessed with some store of Crownes,
And I that (haply) take them from him now,
May yet (ere night) yeeld both my Life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me.
Who's this? Oh God! It is my Fathers face,
Whom in this Conflict, I (vnwares) haue kill'd:
Oh heauy times! begetting such Euents.
From London, by the King was I prest forth,
My Father being the Earle of Warwickes man,
Came on the part of Yorke, prest by his Master:
And I, who at his hands receiu'd my life,
Haue by my hands, of Life bereaued him.
Pardon me God, I knew not what I did:
And pardon Father, for I knew not thee.
My Teares shall wipe away these bloody markes:
And no more words, till they haue flow'd their fill

   King. O pitteous spectacle! O bloody Times!
Whiles Lyons Warre, and battaile for their Dennes,
Poore harmlesse Lambes abide their enmity.
Weepe wretched man: Ile ayde thee Teare for Teare,
And let our hearts and eyes, like Ciuill Warre,
Be blinde with teares, and break ore-charg'd with griefe
Enter Father, bearing of his Sonne.

  Fa. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me,
Giue me thy Gold, if thou hast any Gold:
For I haue bought it with an hundred blowes.
But let me see: Is this our Foe-mans face?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine onely Sonne.
Ah Boy, if any life be left in thee,
Throw vp thine eye: see, see, what showres arise,
Blowne with the windie Tempest of my heart,
Vpon thy wounds, that killes mine Eye, and Heart.
O pitty God, this miserable Age!
What Stratagems? how fell? how Butcherly?
Erreoneous, mutinous, and vnnaturall,
This deadly quarrell daily doth beget?
O Boy! thy Father gaue thee life too soone,
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late

   King. Wo aboue wo: greefe, more the[n] common greefe
O that my death would stay these ruthfull deeds:
O pitty, pitty, gentle heauen pitty:
The Red Rose and the White are on his face,
The fatall Colours of our striuing Houses:
The one, his purple Blood right well resembles,
The other his pale Cheekes (me thinkes) presenteth:
Wither one Rose, and let the other flourish:
If you contend, a thousand liues must wither

   Son. How will my Mother, for a Fathers death
Take on with me, and ne're be satisfi'd?
  Fa. How will my Wife, for slaughter of my Sonne,
Shed seas of Teares, and ne're be satisfi'd?
  King. How will the Country, for these woful chances,
Mis-thinke the King, and not be satisfied?
  Son. Was euer sonne, so rew'd a Fathers death?
  Fath. Was euer Father so bemoan'd his Sonne?
  Hen. Was euer King so greeu'd for Subiects woe?
Much is your sorrow; Mine, ten times so much

   Son. Ile beare thee hence, where I may weepe my fill

   Fath. These armes of mine shall be thy winding sheet:
My heart (sweet Boy) shall be thy Sepulcher,
For from my heart, thine Image ne're shall go.
My sighing brest, shall be thy Funerall bell;
And so obsequious will thy Father be,
Men for the losse of thee, hauing no more,
As Priam was for all his Valiant Sonnes,
Ile beare thee hence, and let them fight that will,
For I haue murthered where I should not kill.

Exit

  Hen. Sad-hearted-men, much ouergone with Care;
Heere sits a King, more wofull then you are.

Alarums. Excursions. Enter the Queen, the Prince, and Exeter.

  Prin. Fly Father, flye: for all your Friends are fled.
And Warwicke rages like a chafed Bull:
Away, for death doth hold vs in pursuite

   Qu. Mount you my Lord, towards Barwicke post amaine:
Edward and Richard like a brace of Grey-hounds,
Hauing the fearfull flying Hare in sight,
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steele graspt in their yrefull hands
Are at our backes, and therefore hence amaine

   Exet. Away: for vengeance comes along with them.
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed,
Or else come after, Ile away before

   Hen. Nay take me with thee, good sweet Exeter:
Not that I feare to stay, but loue to go
Whether the Queene intends. Forward, away.

Exeunt.

A lowd alarum. Enter Clifford Wounded.

  Clif. Heere burnes my Candle out; I, heere it dies,
Which whiles it lasted, gaue King Henry light.
O Lancaster! I feare thy ouerthrow,
More then my Bodies parting with my Soule:
My Loue and Feare, glew'd many Friends to thee,
And now I fall. Thy tough Commixtures melts,
Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud Yorke;
And whether flye the Gnats, but to the Sunne?
And who shines now, but Henries Enemies?
O Phoebus! had'st thou neuer giuen consent,
That Phæton should checke thy fiery Steeds,
Thy burning Carre neuer had scorch'd the earth.
And Henry, had'st thou sway'd as Kings should do,
Or as thy Father, and his Father did,
Giuing no ground vnto the house of Yorke,
They neuer then had sprung like Sommer Flyes:
I, and ten thousand in this lucklesse Realme,
Had left no mourning Widdowes for our death,
And thou this day, had'st kept thy Chaire in peace.
For what doth cherrish Weeds, but gentle ayre?
And what makes Robbers bold, but too much lenity?
Bootlesse are Plaints, and Curelesse are my Wounds:
No way to flye, no strength to hold out flight:
The Foe is mercilesse, and will not pitty:
For at their hands I haue deseru'd no pitty.
The ayre hath got into my deadly Wounds,
And much effuse of blood, doth make me faint:
Come Yorke, and Richard, Warwicke, and the rest,
I stab'd your Fathers bosomes; Split my brest.

Alarum & Retreat. Enter Edward, Warwicke, Richard, and
Soldiers, Montague,
& Clarence.

  Ed. Now breath we Lords, good fortune bids vs pause,
And smooth the frownes of War, with peacefull lookes:
Some Troopes pursue the bloody-minded Queene,
That led calme Henry, though he were a King,
As doth a Saile, fill'd with a fretting Gust
Command an Argosie to stemme the Waues.
But thinke you (Lords) that Clifford fled with them?
  War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
(For though before his face I speake the words)
Your Brother Richard markt him for the Graue.
And wheresoere he is, hee's surely dead.

Clifford grones

  Rich. Whose soule is that which takes hir heauy leaue?
A deadly grone, like life and deaths departing.
See who it is

   Ed. And now the Battailes ended,
If Friend or Foe, let him be gently vsed

   Rich. Reuoke that doome of mercy, for 'tis Clifford,
Who not contented that he lopp'd the Branch
In hewing Rutland, when his leaues put forth,
But set his murth'ring knife vnto the Roote,
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I meane our Princely Father, Duke of Yorke

   War. From off the gates of Yorke, fetch down y head,
Your Fathers head, which Clifford placed there:
In stead whereof, let this supply the roome,
Measure for measure, must be answered

   Ed. Bring forth that fatall Schreechowle to our house,
That nothing sung but death, to vs and ours:
Now death shall stop his dismall threatning sound,
And his ill-boading tongue, no more shall speake

   War. I thinke his vnderstanding is bereft:
Speake Clifford, dost thou know who speakes to thee?
Darke cloudy death ore-shades his beames of life,
And he nor sees, nor heares vs, what we say

   Rich. O would he did, and so (perhaps) he doth,
'Tis but his policy to counterfet,
Because he would auoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gaue our Father

   Cla. If so thou think'st,
Vex him with eager Words

   Rich. Clifford, aske mercy, and obtaine no grace

   Ed. Clifford, repent in bootlesse penitence

   War. Clifford, deuise excuses for thy faults

   Cla. While we deuise fell Tortures for thy faults

   Rich. Thou didd'st loue Yorke, and I am son to Yorke

   Edw. Thou pittied'st Rutland, I will pitty thee

   Cla. Where's Captaine Margaret, to fence you now?
  War. They mocke thee Clifford,
Sweare as thou was't wont

   Ric. What, not an Oath? Nay then the world go's hard
When Clifford cannot spare his Friends an oath:
I know by that he's dead, and by my Soule,
If this right hand would buy two houres life,
That I (in all despight) might rayle at him,
This hand should chop it off: & with the issuing Blood
Stifle the Villaine, whose vnstanched thirst
Yorke, and yong Rutland could not satisfie
  War. I, but he's dead. Of with the Traitors head,
And reare it in the place your Fathers stands.
And now to London with Triumphant march,
There to be crowned Englands Royall King:
From whence, shall Warwicke cut the Sea to France,
And aske the Ladie Bona for thy Queene:
So shalt thou sinow both these Lands together,
And hauing France thy Friend, thou shalt not dread
The scattred Foe, that hopes to rise againe:
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet looke to haue them buz to offend thine eares:
First, will I see the Coronation,
And then to Britanny Ile crosse the Sea,
To effect this marriage, so it please my Lord

   Ed. Euen as thou wilt sweet Warwicke, let it bee:
For in thy shoulder do I builde my Seate;
And neuer will I vndertake the thing
Wherein thy counsaile and consent is wanting:
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester,
And George of Clarence; Warwicke as our Selfe,
Shall do, and vndo as him pleaseth best

   Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloster,
For Glosters Dukedome is too ominous

   War. Tut, that's a foolish obseruation:
Richard, be Duke of Gloster: Now to London,
To see these Honors in possession.

Exeunt.

Enter Sinklo, and Humfrey, with Crosse-bowes in their hands.

  Sink. Vnder this thicke growne brake, wee'l shrowd our selues:
For through this Laund anon the Deere will come,
And in this couert will we make our Stand,
Culling the principall of all the Deere

   Hum. Ile stay aboue the hill, so both may shoot

   Sink. That cannot be, the noise of thy Crosse-bow
Will scarre the Heard, and so my shoot is lost:
Heere stand we both, and ayme we at the best:
And for the time shall not seeme tedious,
Ile tell thee what befell me on a day,
In this selfe-place, where now we meane to stand

   Sink. Heere comes a man, let's stay till he be past:
Enter the King with a Prayer booke.

  Hen. From Scotland am I stolne euen of pure loue,
To greet mine owne Land with my wishfull sight:
No Harry, Harry, 'tis no Land of thine,
Thy place is fill'd, thy Scepter wrung from thee,
Thy Balme washt off, wherewith thou was Annointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,
No humble suters prease to speake for right:
No, not a man comes for redresse of thee:
For how can I helpe them, and not my selfe?
  Sink. I, heere's a Deere, whose skin's a Keepers Fee:
This is the quondam King; Let's seize vpon him

   Hen. Let me embrace the sower Aduersaries,
For Wise men say, it is the wisest course

   Hum. Why linger we? Let vs lay hands vpon him

   Sink. Forbeare a-while, wee'l heare a little more

   Hen. My Queene and Son are gone to France for aid:
And (as I heare) the great Commanding Warwicke
I: thither gone, to craue the French Kings Sister
To wife for Edward. If this newes be true,
Poore Queene, and Sonne, your labour is but lost:
For Warwicke is a subtle Orator:
And Lewis a Prince soone wonne with mouing words:
By this account then, Margaret may winne him,
For she's a woman to be pittied much:
Her sighes will make a batt'ry in his brest,
Her teares will pierce into a Marble heart:
The Tyger will be milde, whiles she doth mourne;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To heare and see her plaints, her Brinish Teares.
I, but shee's come to begge, Warwicke to giue:
Shee on his left side, crauing ayde for Henrie;
He on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
Shee Weepes, and sayes, her Henry is depos'd:
He Smiles, and sayes, his Edward is instaul'd;
That she (poore Wretch) for greefe can speake no more:
Whiles Warwicke tels his Title, smooths the Wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion winnes the King from her,
With promise of his Sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support King Edwards place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be, and thou (poore soule)
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorne

   Hum. Say, what art thou talk'st of Kings & Queens?
  King. More then I seeme, and lesse then I was born to:
A man at least, for lesse I should not be:
And men may talke of Kings, and why not I?
  Hum. I, but thou talk'st, as if thou wer't a King

   King. Why so I am (in Minde) and that's enough

   Hum. But if thou be a King, where is thy Crowne?
  King. My Crowne is in my heart, not on my head:
Not deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian stones:
Nor to be seene: my Crowne, is call'd Content,
A Crowne it is, that sildome Kings enioy

   Hum. Well, if you be a King crown'd with Content,
Your Crowne Content, and you, must be contented
To go along with vs. For (as we thinke)
You are the king King Edward hath depos'd:
And we his subiects, sworne in all Allegeance,
Will apprehend you, as his Enemie

   King. But did you neuer sweare, and breake an Oath

   Hum. No, neuer such an Oath, nor will not now

   King. Where did you dwell when I was K[ing]. of England?
  Hum. Heere in this Country, where we now remaine

   King. I was annointed King at nine monthes old,
My Father, and my Grandfather were Kings:
And you were sworne true Subiects vnto me:
And tell me then, haue you not broke your Oathes?
  Sin. No, for we were Subiects, but while you wer king
  King. Why? Am I dead? Do I not breath a Man?
Ah simple men, you know not what you sweare:
Looke, as I blow this Feather from my Face,
And as the Ayre blowes it to me againe,
Obeying with my winde when I do blow,
And yeelding to another, when it blowes,
Commanded alwayes by the greater gust:
Such is the lightnesse of you, common men.
But do not breake your Oathes, for of that sinne,
My milde intreatie shall not make you guiltie.
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded,
And be you kings, command, and Ile obey

   Sinklo. We are true Subiects to the king,
King Edward

   King. So would you be againe to Henrie,
If he were seated as king Edward is

   Sinklo. We charge you in Gods name & the Kings,
To go with vs vnto the Officers

   King. In Gods name lead, your Kings name be obeyd,
And what God will, that let your King performe.
And what he will, I humbly yeeld vnto.

Exeunt.

Enter K[ing]. Edward, Gloster, Clarence, Lady Gray.

  King. Brother of Gloster, at S[aint]. Albons field
This Ladyes Husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slaine,
His Land then seiz'd on by the Conqueror,
Her suit is now, to repossesse those Lands,
Which wee in Iustice cannot well deny,
Because in Quarrell of the House of Yorke,
The worthy Gentleman did lose his Life

   Rich. Your Highnesse shall doe well to graunt her suit:
It were dishonor to deny it her

   King. It were no lesse, but yet Ile make a pawse

   Rich. Yea, is it so:
I see the Lady hath a thing to graunt,
Before the King will graunt her humble suit

   Clarence. Hee knowes the Game, how true hee keepes
the winde?
  Rich. Silence

   King. Widow, we will consider of your suit,
And come some other time to know our minde

   Wid. Right gracious Lord, I cannot brooke delay:
May it please your Highnesse to resolue me now,
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfie me

   Rich. I Widow? then Ile warrant you all your Lands,
And if what pleases him, shall pleasure you:
Fight closer, or good faith you'le catch a Blow

   Clarence. I feare her not, vnlesse she chance to fall

   Rich. God forbid that, for hee'le take vantages

   King. How many Children hast thou, Widow? tell
me

   Clarence. I thinke he meanes to begge a Child of her

   Rich. Nay then whip me: hee'le rather giue her two

   Wid. Three, my most gracious Lord

   Rich. You shall haue foure, if you'le be rul'd by him

   King. 'Twere pittie they should lose their Fathers
Lands

   Wid. Be pittifull, dread Lord, and graunt it then

   King. Lords giue vs leaue, Ile trye this Widowes
wit

   Rich. I, good leaue haue you, for you will haue leaue,
Till Youth take leaue, and leaue you to the Crutch

   King. Now tell me, Madame, doe you loue your
Children?
  Wid. I, full as dearely as I loue my selfe

   King. And would you not doe much to doe them
good?
  Wid. To doe them good, I would sustayne some
harme

   King. Then get your Husbands Lands, to doe them
good

   Wid. Therefore I came vnto your Maiestie

   King. Ile tell you how these Lands are to be got

   Wid. So shall you bind me to your Highnesse seruice

   King. What seruice wilt thou doe me, if I giue them?
  Wid. What you command, that rests in me to doe

   King. But you will take exceptions to my Boone

   Wid. No, gracious Lord, except I cannot doe it

   King. I, but thou canst doe what I meane to aske

   Wid. Why then I will doe what your Grace commands

   Rich. Hee plyes her hard, and much Raine weares the
Marble

   Clar. As red as fire? nay then, her Wax must melt

   Wid. Why stoppes my Lord? shall I not heare my
Taske?
  King. An easie Taske, 'tis but to loue a King

   Wid. That's soone perform'd, because I am a Subiect

   King. Why then, thy Husbands Lands I freely giue
thee

   Wid. I take my leaue with many thousand thankes

   Rich. The Match is made, shee seales it with a Cursie

   King. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of loue I meane

   Wid. The fruits of Loue, I meane, my louing Liege

   King. I, but I feare me in another sence.
What Loue, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?
  Wid. My loue till death, my humble thanks, my prayers,
That loue which Vertue begges, and Vertue graunts

   King. No, by my troth, I did not meane such loue

   Wid. Why then you meane not, as I thought you did

   King. But now you partly may perceiue my minde

   Wid. My minde will neuer graunt what I perceiue
Your Highnesse aymes at, if I ayme aright

   King. To tell thee plaine, I ayme to lye with thee

   Wid. To tell you plaine, I had rather lye in Prison

   King. Why then thou shalt not haue thy Husbands
Lands

   Wid. Why then mine Honestie shall be my Dower,
For by that losse, I will not purchase them

   King. Therein thou wrong'st thy Children mightily

   Wid. Herein your Highnesse wrongs both them & me:
But mightie Lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadnesse of my suit:
Please you dismisse me, eyther with I, or no

   King. I, if thou wilt say I to my request:
No, if thou do'st say No to my demand

   Wid. Then No, my Lord: my suit is at an end

   Rich. The Widow likes him not, shee knits her
Browes

   Clarence. Hee is the bluntest Wooer in Christendome

   King. Her Looks doth argue her replete with Modesty,
Her Words doth shew her Wit incomparable,
All her perfections challenge Soueraigntie,
One way, or other, shee is for a King,
And shee shall be my Loue, or else my Queene.
Say, that King Edward take thee for his Queene?
  Wid. 'Tis better said then done, my gracious Lord:
I am a subiect fit to ieast withall,
But farre vnfit to be a Soueraigne

   King. Sweet Widow, by my State I sweare to thee,
I speake no more then what my Soule intends,
And that is, to enioy thee for my Loue

   Wid. And that is more then I will yeeld vnto:
I know, I am too meane to be your Queene,
And yet too good to be your Concubine

   King. You cauill, Widow, I did meane my Queene

   Wid. 'Twill grieue your Grace, my Sonnes should call
you Father

   King. No more, then when my Daughters
Call thee Mother.
Thou art a Widow, and thou hast some Children,
And by Gods Mother, I being but a Batchelor,
Haue other-some. Why, 'tis a happy thing,
To be the Father vnto many Sonnes:
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queene

   Rich. The Ghostly Father now hath done his Shrift

   Clarence. When hee was made a Shriuer, 'twas for shift

   King. Brothers, you muse what Chat wee two haue
had

   Rich. The Widow likes it not, for shee lookes very
sad

   King. You'ld thinke it strange, if I should marrie
her

   Clarence. To who, my Lord?
  King. Why Clarence, to my selfe

   Rich. That would be tenne dayes wonder at the least

   Clarence. That's a day longer then a Wonder lasts

   Rich. By so much is the Wonder in extremes

   King. Well, ieast on Brothers: I can tell you both,
Her suit is graunted for her Husbands Lands.
Enter a Noble man

   Nob. My gracious Lord, Henry your Foe is taken,
And brought your Prisoner to your Pallace Gate

   King. See that he be conuey'd vnto the Tower:
And goe wee Brothers to the man that tooke him,
To question of his apprehension.
Widow goe you along: Lords vse her honourable.

Exeunt.

Manet Richard.

  Rich. I, Edward will vse Women honourably:
Would he were wasted, Marrow, Bones, and all,
That from his Loynes no hopefull Branch may spring,
To crosse me from the Golden time I looke for:
And yet, betweene my Soules desire, and me,
The lustfull Edwards Title buryed,
Is Clarence, Henry, and his Sonne young Edward,
And all the vnlook'd-for Issue of their Bodies,
To take their Roomes, ere I can place my selfe:
A cold premeditation for my purpose.
Why then I doe but dreame on Soueraigntie,
Like one that stands vpon a Promontorie,
And spyes a farre-off shore, where hee would tread,
Wishing his foot were equall with his eye,
And chides the Sea, that sunders him from thence,
Saying, hee'le lade it dry, to haue his way:
So doe I wish the Crowne, being so farre off,
And so I chide the meanes that keepes me from it,
And so (I say) Ile cut the Causes off,
Flattering me with impossibilities:
My Eyes too quicke, my Heart o're-weenes too much,
Vnlesse my Hand and Strength could equall them.
Well, say there is no Kingdome then for Richard:
What other Pleasure can the World affoord?
Ile make my Heauen in a Ladies Lappe,
And decke my Body in gay Ornaments,
And 'witch sweet Ladies with my Words and Lookes.
Oh miserable Thought! and more vnlikely,
Then to accomplish twentie Golden Crownes.
Why Loue forswore me in my Mothers Wombe:
And for I should not deale in her soft Lawes,
Shee did corrupt frayle Nature with some Bribe,
To shrinke mine Arme vp like a wither'd Shrub,
To make an enuious Mountaine on my Back,
Where sits Deformitie to mocke my Body;
To shape my Legges of an vnequall size,
To dis-proportion me in euery part:
Like to a Chaos, or an vn-lick'd Beare-whelpe,
That carryes no impression like the Damme.
And am I then a man to be belou'd?
Oh monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought.
Then since this Earth affoords no Ioy to me,
But to command, to check, to o're-beare such,
As are of better Person then my selfe:
Ile make my Heauen, to dreame vpon the Crowne,
And whiles I liue, t' account this World but Hell,
Vntill my mis-shap'd Trunke, that beares this Head,
Be round impaled with a glorious Crowne.
And yet I know not how to get the Crowne,
For many Liues stand betweene me and home:
And I, like one lost in a Thornie Wood,
That rents the Thornes, and is rent with the Thornes,
Seeking a way, and straying from the way,
Not knowing how to finde the open Ayre,
But toyling desperately to finde it out,
Torment my selfe, to catch the English Crowne:
And from that torment I will free my selfe,
Or hew my way out with a bloody Axe.
Why I can smile, and murther whiles I smile,
And cry, Content, to that which grieues my Heart,
And wet my Cheekes with artificiall Teares,
And frame my Face to all occasions.
Ile drowne more Saylers then the Mermaid shall,
Ile slay more gazers then the Basiliske,
Ile play the Orator as well as Nestor,
Deceiue more slyly then Vlisses could,
And like a Synon, take another Troy.
I can adde Colours to the Camelion,
Change shapes with Proteus, for aduantages,
And set the murtherous Macheuill to Schoole.
Can I doe this, and cannot get a Crowne?
Tut, were it farther off, Ile plucke it downe.
Enter.

Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, his Sister Bona, his
Admirall,
call'd Bourbon: Prince Edward, Queene Margaret, and the Earle of
Oxford.
Lewis sits, and riseth vp againe.

  Lewis. Faire Queene of England, worthy Margaret,
Sit downe with vs: it ill befits thy State,
And Birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis doth sit

   Marg. No, mightie King of France: now Margaret
Must strike her sayle, and learne a while to serue,
Where Kings command. I was (I must confesse)
Great Albions Queene, in former Golden dayes:
But now mischance hath trod my Title downe,
And with dis-honor layd me on the ground,
Where I must take like Seat vnto my fortune,
And to my humble Seat conforme my selfe

   Lewis. Why say, faire Queene, whence springs this
deepe despaire?
  Marg. From such a cause, as fills mine eyes with teares,
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares

   Lewis. What ere it be, be thou still like thy selfe,
And sit thee by our side.

Seats her by him.

Yeeld not thy necke to Fortunes yoake,
But let thy dauntlesse minde still ride in triumph,
Ouer all mischance.
Be plaine, Queene Margaret, and tell thy griefe,
It shall be eas'd, if France can yeeld reliefe

   Marg. Those gracious words
Reuiue my drooping thoughts,
And giue my tongue-ty'd sorrowes leaue to speake.
Now therefore be it knowne to Noble Lewis,
That Henry, sole possessor of my Loue,
Is, of a King, become a banisht man,
And forc'd to liue in Scotland a Forlorne;
While prowd ambitious Edward, Duke of Yorke,
Vsurpes the Regall Title, and the Seat
Of Englands true anoynted lawfull King.
This is the cause that I, poore Margaret,
With this my Sonne, Prince Edward, Henries Heire,
Am come to craue thy iust and lawfull ayde:
And if thou faile vs, all our hope is done.
Scotland hath will to helpe, but cannot helpe:
Our People, and our Peeres, are both mis-led,
Our Treasure seiz'd, our Souldiors put to flight,
And (as thou seest) our selues in heauie plight

   Lewis. Renowned Queene,
With patience calme the Storme,
While we bethinke a meanes to breake it off

   Marg. The more wee stay, the stronger growes our
Foe

   Lewis. The more I stay, the more Ile succour thee

   Marg. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.
And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow.
Enter Warwicke.

  Lewis. What's hee approacheth boldly to our presence?
  Marg. Our Earle of Warwicke, Edwards greatest
Friend

   Lewis. Welcome braue Warwicke, what brings thee
to France?

Hee descends. Shee ariseth.

  Marg. I now begins a second Storme to rise,
For this is hee that moues both Winde and Tyde

   Warw. From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
My Lord and Soueraigne, and thy vowed Friend,
I come (in Kindnesse, and vnfayned Loue)
First, to doe greetings to thy Royall Person,
And then to craue a League of Amitie:
And lastly, to confirme that Amitie
With Nuptiall Knot, if thou vouchsafe to graunt
That vertuous Lady Bona, thy faire Sister,
To Englands King, in lawfull Marriage

   Marg. If that goe forward, Henries hope is done

   Warw. And gracious Madame,

Speaking to Bona.

In our Kings behalfe,
I am commanded, with your leaue and fauor,
Humbly to kisse your Hand, and with my Tongue
To tell the passion of my Soueraignes Heart;
Where Fame, late entring at his heedfull Eares,
Hath plac'd thy Beauties Image, and thy Vertue

   Marg. King Lewis, and Lady Bona, heare me speake,
Before you answer Warwicke. His demand
Springs not from Edwards well-meant honest Loue,
But from Deceit, bred by Necessitie:
For how can Tyrants safely gouerne home,
Vnlesse abroad they purchase great allyance?
To proue him Tyrant, this reason may suffice,
That Henry liueth still: but were hee dead,
Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henries Sonne.
Looke therefore Lewis, that by this League and Mariage
Thou draw not on thy Danger, and Dis-honor:
For though Vsurpers sway the rule a while,
Yet Heau'ns are iust, and Time suppresseth Wrongs

   Warw. Iniurious Margaret

   Edw. And why not Queene?
  Warw. Because thy Father Henry did vsurpe,
And thou no more art Prince, then shee is Queene

   Oxf. Then Warwicke disanulls great Iohn of Gaunt,
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spaine;
And after Iohn of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,
Whose Wisdome was a Mirror to the wisest:
And after that wise Prince, Henry the Fift,
Who by his Prowesse conquered all France:
From these, our Henry lineally descends

   Warw. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse,
You told not, how Henry the Sixt hath lost
All that, which Henry the Fift had gotten:
Me thinkes these Peeres of France should smile at that.
But for the rest: you tell a Pedigree
Of threescore and two yeeres, a silly time
To make prescription for a Kingdomes worth

   Oxf. Why Warwicke, canst thou speak against thy Liege,
Whom thou obeyd'st thirtie and six yeeres,
And not bewray thy Treason with a Blush?
  Warw. Can Oxford, that did euer fence the right,
Now buckler Falsehood with a Pedigree?
For shame leaue Henry, and call Edward King

   Oxf. Call him my King, by whose iniurious doome
My elder Brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere
Was done to death? and more then so, my Father,
Euen in the downe-fall of his mellow'd yeeres,
When Nature brought him to the doore of Death?
No Warwicke, no: while Life vpholds this Arme,
This Arme vpholds the House of Lancaster

   Warw. And I the House of Yorke

   Lewis. Queene Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford,
Vouchsafe at our request, to stand aside,
While I vse further conference with Warwicke.

They stand aloofe.

  Marg. Heauens graunt, that Warwickes wordes bewitch
him not

   Lew. Now Warwicke, tell me euen vpon thy conscience
Is Edward your true King? for I were loth
To linke with him, that were not lawfull chosen

   Warw. Thereon I pawne my Credit, and mine Honor

   Lewis. But is hee gracious in the Peoples eye?
  Warw. The more, that Henry was vnfortunate

   Lewis. Then further: all dissembling set aside,
Tell me for truth, the measure of his Loue
Vnto our Sister Bona

   War. Such it seemes,
As may beseeme a Monarch like himselfe.
My selfe haue often heard him say, and sweare,
That this his Loue was an externall Plant,
Whereof the Root was fixt in Vertues ground,
The Leaues and Fruit maintain'd with Beauties Sunne,
Exempt from Enuy, but not from Disdaine,
Vnlesse the Lady Bona quit his paine

   Lewis. Now Sister, let vs heare your firme resolue

   Bona. Your graunt, or your denyall, shall be mine.
Yet I confesse, that often ere this day,

Speaks to War[wicke].

When I haue heard your Kings desert recounted,
Mine eare hath tempted iudgement to desire

   Lewis. Then Warwicke, thus:
Our Sister shall be Edwards.
And now forthwith shall Articles be drawne,
Touching the Ioynture that your King must make,
Which with her Dowrie shall be counter-poys'd:
Draw neere, Queene Margaret, and be a witnesse,
That Bona shall be Wife to the English King

   Pr.Edw. To Edward, but not to the English King

   Marg. Deceitfull Warwicke, it was thy deuice,
By this alliance to make void my suit:
Before thy comming, Lewis was Henries friend

   Lewis. And still is friend to him, and Margaret.
But if your Title to the Crowne by weake,
As may appeare by Edwards good successe:
Then 'tis but reason, that I be releas'd
From giuing ayde, which late I promised.
Yet shall you haue all kindnesse at my hand,
That your Estate requires, and mine can yeeld

   Warw. Henry now liues in Scotland, at his ease;
Where hauing nothing, nothing can he lose.
And as for you your selfe (our quondam Queene)
You haue a Father able to maintaine you,
And better 'twere, you troubled him, then France

   Mar. Peace impudent, and shamelesse Warwicke,
Proud setter vp, and puller downe of Kings,
I will not hence, till with my Talke and Teares
(Both full of Truth) I make King Lewis behold
Thy slye conueyance, and thy Lords false loue,

Post blowing a horne Within.

For both of you are Birds of selfe-same Feather

   Lewes. Warwicke, this is some poste to vs, or thee.
Enter the Poste.

  Post. My Lord Ambassador,
These Letters are for you.

Speakes to Warwick,

Sent from your Brother Marquesse Montague.
These from our King, vnto your Maiesty.

To Lewis.

And Madam, these for you:

To Margaret

From whom, I know not.

They all reade their Letters.

  Oxf. I like it well, that our faire Queene and Mistris
Smiles at her newes, while Warwicke frownes at his

   Prince Ed. Nay marke how Lewis stampes as he were
netled. I hope, all's for the best

   Lew. Warwicke, what are thy Newes?
And yours, faire Queene

   Mar. Mine such, as fill my heart with vnhop'd ioyes

   War. Mine full of sorrow, and hearts discontent

   Lew. What? has your King married the Lady Grey?
And now to sooth your Forgery, and his,
Sends me a Paper to perswade me Patience?
Is this th' Alliance that he seekes with France?
Dare he presume to scorne vs in this manner?
  Mar. I told your Maiesty as much before:
This proueth Edwards Loue, and Warwickes honesty

   War. King Lewis, I heere protest in sight of heauen,
And by the hope I haue of heauenly blisse,
That I am cleere from this misdeed of Edwards;
No more my King, for he dishonors me,
But most himselfe, if he could see his shame.
Did I forget, that by the House of Yorke
My Father came vntimely to his death?
Did I let passe th' abuse done to my Neece?
Did I impale him with the Regall Crowne?
Did I put Henry from his Natiue Right?
And am I guerdon'd at the last, with Shame?
Shame on himselfe, for my Desert is Honor.
And to repaire my Honor lost for him,
I heere renounce him, and returne to Henry.
My Noble Queene, let former grudges passe,
And henceforth, I am thy true Seruitour:
I will reuenge his wrong to Lady Bona,
And replant Henry in his former state

   Mar. Warwicke,
These words haue turn'd my Hate, to Loue,
And I forgiue, and quite forget old faults,
And ioy that thou becom'st King Henries Friend

   War. So much his Friend, I, his Vnfained Friend,
That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish vs
With some few Bands of chosen Soldiours,
Ile vndertake to Land them on our Coast,
And force the Tyrant from his seat by Warre.
'Tis not his new-made Bride shall succour him.
And as for Clarence, as my Letters tell me,
Hee's very likely now to fall from him,
For matching more for wanton Lust, then Honor,
Or then for strength and safety of our Country

   Bona. Deere Brother, how shall Bona be reueng'd,
But by thy helpe to this distressed Queene?
  Mar. Renowned Prince, how shall Poore Henry liue,
Vnlesse thou rescue him from foule dispaire?
  Bona. My quarrel, and this English Queens, are one

   War. And mine faire Lady Bona, ioynes with yours

   Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and Margarets.
Therefore, at last, I firmely am resolu'd
You shall haue ayde

   Mar. Let me giue humble thankes for all, at once

   Lew. Then Englands Messenger, returne in Poste,
And tell false Edward, thy supposed King,
That Lewis of France, is sending ouer Maskers
To reuell it with him, and his new Bride.
Thou seest what's past, go feare thy King withall

   Bona. Tell him, in hope hee'l proue a widower shortly,
I weare the Willow Garland for his sake

   Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds are layde aside,
And I am ready to put Armor on

   War. Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore Ile vn-Crowne him, er't be long.
There's thy reward, be gone.

Exit Post.

  Lew. But Warwicke,
Thou and Oxford, with fiue thousand men
Shall crosse the Seas, and bid false Edward battaile:
And as occasion serues, this Noble Queen
And Prince, shall follow with a fresh Supply.
Yet ere thou go, but answer me one doubt:
What Pledge haue we of thy firme Loyalty?
  War. This shall assure my constant Loyalty,
That if our Queene, and this young Prince agree,
Ile ioyne mine eldest daughter, and my Ioy,
To him forthwith, in holy Wedlocke bands

   Mar. Yes, I agree, and thanke you for your Motion.
Sonne Edward, she is Faire and Vertuous,
Therefore delay not, giue thy hand to Warwicke,
And with thy hand, thy faith irreuocable,
That onely Warwickes daughter shall be thine

   Prin.Ed. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserues it,
And heere to pledge my Vow, I giue my hand.

He giues his hand to Warw[icke].

  Lew. Why stay we now? These soldiers shalbe leuied,
And thou Lord Bourbon, our High Admirall
Shall waft them ouer with our Royall Fleete.
I long till Edward fall by Warres mischance,
For mocking Marriage with a Dame of France.

Exeunt. Manet Warwicke.

  War. I came from Edward as Ambassador,
But I returne his sworne and mortall Foe:
Matter of Marriage was the charge he gaue me,
But dreadfull Warre shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a stale but me?
Then none but I, shall turne his Iest to Sorrow.
I was the Cheefe that rais'd him to the Crowne,
And Ile be Cheefe to bring him downe againe:
Not that I pitty Henries misery,
But seeke Reuenge on Edwards mockery.
Enter.

Enter Richard, Clarence, Somerset, and Mountague.

  Rich. Now tell me Brother Clarence, what thinke you
Of this new Marriage with the Lady Gray?
Hath not our Brother made a worthy choice?
  Cla. Alas, you know, tis farre from hence to France,
How could he stay till Warwicke made returne?
  Som. My Lords, forbeare this talke: heere comes the
King.

Flourish. Enter King Edward, Lady Grey, Penbrooke, Stafford,
Hastings:
foure stand on one side, and foure on the other.

  Rich. And his well-chosen Bride

   Clarence. I minde to tell him plainly what I thinke

   King. Now Brother of Clarence,
How like you our Choyce,
That you stand pensiue, as halfe malecontent?
  Clarence. As well as Lewis of France,
Or the Earle of Warwicke,
Which are so weake of courage, and in iudgement,
That they'le take no offence at our abuse

   King. Suppose they take offence without a cause:
They are but Lewis and Warwicke, I am Edward,
Your King and Warwickes, and must haue my will

   Rich. And shall haue your will, because our King:
Yet hastie Marriage seldome proueth well

   King. Yea, Brother Richard, are you offended too?
  Rich. Not I: no:
God forbid, that I should wish them seuer'd,
Whom God hath ioyn'd together:
I, and 'twere pittie, to sunder them,
That yoake so well together

   King. Setting your skornes, and your mislike aside,
Tell me some reason, why the Lady Grey
Should not become my Wife, and Englands Queene?
And you too, Somerset, and Mountague,
Speake freely what you thinke

   Clarence. Then this is mine opinion:
That King Lewis becomes your Enemie,
For mocking him about the Marriage
Of the Lady Bona

   Rich. And Warwicke, doing what you gaue in charge,
Is now dis-honored by this new Marriage

   King. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd,
By such inuention as I can deuise?
  Mount. Yet, to haue ioyn'd with France in such alliance,
Would more haue strength'ned this our Commonwealth
'Gainst forraine stormes, then any home-bred Marriage

   Hast. Why, knowes not Mountague, that of it selfe,
England is safe, if true within it selfe?
  Mount. But the safer, when 'tis back'd with France

   Hast. 'Tis better vsing France, then trusting France:
Let vs be back'd with God, and with the Seas,
Which he hath giu'n for fence impregnable,
And with their helpes, onely defend our selues:
In them, and in our selues, our safetie lyes

   Clar. For this one speech, Lord Hastings well deserues
To haue the Heire of the Lord Hungerford

   King. I, what of that? it was my will, and graunt,
And for this once, my Will shall stand for Law

   Rich. And yet me thinks, your Grace hath not done well,
To giue the Heire and Daughter of Lord Scales
Vnto the Brother of your louing Bride;
Shee better would haue fitted me, or Clarence:
But in your Bride you burie Brotherhood

   Clar. Or else you would not haue bestow'd the Heire
Of the Lord Bonuill on your new Wiues Sonne,
And leaue your Brothers to goe speede elsewhere

   King. Alas, poore Clarence: is it for a Wife
That thou art malecontent? I will prouide thee

   Clarence. In chusing for your selfe,
You shew'd your iudgement:
Which being shallow, you shall giue me leaue
To play the Broker in mine owne behalfe;
And to that end, I shortly minde to leaue you

   King. Leaue me, or tarry, Edward will be King,
And not be ty'd vnto his Brothers will

   Lady Grey. My Lords, before it pleas'd his Maiestie
To rayse my State to Title of a Queene,
Doe me but right, and you must all confesse,
That I was not ignoble of Descent,
And meaner then my selfe haue had like fortune.
But as this Title honors me and mine,
So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing,
Doth cloud my ioyes with danger, and with sorrow

   King. My Loue, forbeare to fawne vpon their frownes:
What danger, or what sorrow can befall thee,
So long as Edward is thy constant friend,
And their true Soueraigne, whom they must obey?
Nay, whom they shall obey, and loue thee too,
Vnlesse they seeke for hatred at my hands:
Which if they doe, yet will I keepe thee safe,
And they shall feele the vengeance of my wrath

   Rich. I heare, yet say not much, but thinke the more.
Enter a Poste

   King. Now Messenger, what Letters, or what Newes
from France?
  Post. My Soueraigne Liege, no Letters, & few words,
But such, as I (without your speciall pardon)
Dare not relate

   King. Goe too, wee pardon thee:
Therefore, in briefe, tell me their words,
As neere as thou canst guesse them.
What answer makes King Lewis vnto our Letters?
  Post. At my depart, these were his very words:
Goe tell false Edward, the supposed King,
That Lewis of France is sending ouer Maskers,
To reuell it with him, and his new Bride

   King. Is Lewis so braue? belike he thinkes me Henry.
But what said Lady Bona to my Marriage?
  Post. These were her words, vtt'red with mild disdaine:
Tell him, in hope hee'le proue a Widower shortly,
Ile weare the Willow Garland for his sake

   King. I blame not her; she could say little lesse:
She had the wrong. But what said Henries Queene?
For I haue heard, that she was there in place

   Post. Tell him (quoth she)
My mourning Weedes are done,
And I am readie to put Armour on

   King. Belike she minds to play the Amazon.
But what said Warwicke to these iniuries?
  Post. He, more incens'd against your Maiestie,
Then all the rest, discharg'd me with these words:
Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore Ile vncrowne him, er't be long

   King. Ha? durst the Traytor breath out so prowd words?
Well, I will arme me, being thus fore-warn'd:
They shall haue Warres, and pay for their presumption.
But say, is Warwicke friends with Margaret?
  Post. I, gracious Soueraigne,
They are so link'd in friendship,
That yong Prince Edward marryes Warwicks Daughter

   Clarence. Belike, the elder;
Clarence will haue the younger.
Now Brother King farewell, and sit you fast,
For I will hence to Warwickes other Daughter,
That though I want a Kingdome, yet in Marriage
I may not proue inferior to your selfe.
You that loue me, and Warwicke, follow me.

Exit Clarence, and Somerset followes.

  Rich. Not I:
My thoughts ayme at a further matter:
I stay not for the loue of Edward, but the Crowne

   King. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwicke?
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen:
And haste is needfull in this desp'rate case.
Pembrooke and Stafford, you in our behalfe
Goe leuie men, and make prepare for Warre;
They are alreadie, or quickly will be landed:
My selfe in person will straight follow you.

Exeunt. Pembrooke and Stafford.

But ere I goe, Hastings and Mountague
Resolue my doubt: you twaine, of all the rest,
Are neere to Warwicke, by bloud, and by allyance:
Tell me, if you loue Warwicke more then me;
If it be so, then both depart to him:
I rather wish you foes, then hollow friends.
But if you minde to hold your true obedience,
Giue me assurance with some friendly Vow,
That I may neuer haue you in suspect

   Mount. So God helpe Mountague, as hee proues
true

   Hast. And Hastings, as hee fauours Edwards cause

   King. Now, Brother Richard, will you stand by vs?
  Rich. I, in despight of all that shall withstand you

   King. Why so: then am I sure of Victorie.
Now therefore let vs hence, and lose no howre,
Till wee meet Warwicke, with his forreine powre.

Exeunt.

Enter Warwicke and Oxford in England, with French Souldiors.

  Warw. Trust me, my Lord, all hitherto goes well,
The common people by numbers swarme to vs.
Enter Clarence and Somerset.