SCENE V.

_Enter_[290] _the_ KING, BALDOCK, _and_ YOUNG SPENCER, _flying about the stage._

_Y. Spen._ Fly, fly, my lord! the queen is over-strong; Her friends do multiply, and yours do fail. Shape we our course to Ireland, there to breathe.

_Edw._ What! was I born to fly and run away, And leave the Mortimers conquerors behind? Give me my horse, and let's re'nforce our troops: And in this bed of honour die with fame.

_Bald._ O no, my lord, this princely resolution Fits not the time; away, we are pursued. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ KENT _alone, with his sword and target._

_Kent._ This way he fled, but I am come too late. 10 Edward, alas! my heart relents for thee. Proud traitor, Mortimer, why dost thou chase Thy lawful king, thy sovereign, with thy sword? Vild wretch! and why hast thou, of all unkind, Borne arms against thy brother and thy king? Rain showers of vengeance on my cursèd head, Thou God, to whom in justice it belongs To punish this unnatural revolt! Edward, this Mortimer aims at thy life! O fly him, then! but, Edmund, calm this rage, 20 Dissemble, or thou diest; for Mortimer And Isabel do kiss, while they conspire: And yet she bears a face of love forsooth. Fie on that love that hatcheth death and hate! Edmund, away; Bristow to Longshanks' blood Is false; be not found single for suspect: Proud Mortimer pries near unto thy walks.

_Enter the_ QUEEN, MORTIMER, _the_ Young Prince, _and_ SIR JOHN OF HAINAULT.

_Queen._ Successful[291] battle gives the God of kings To them that fight in right, and fear his wrath. Since then successfully we have prevailed, 30 Thankèd be heaven's great architect, and you. Ere farther we proceed, my noble lords, We here create our well-belovèd son, Of love and care unto his royal person, Lord Warden of the realm, and sith the fates Have made his father so infortunate, Deal you, my lords, in this, my loving lords, As to your wisdoms fittest seems in all.

_Kent._ Madam, without offence, if I may ask, How will you deal with Edward in his fall? 40

_Prince._ Tell me, good uncle, what Edward do you mean?

_Kent._ Nephew, your father: I dare not call him king.

_Mor._ My lord of Kent, what needs these questions? 'Tis not in her controlment, nor in ours, But as the realm and parliament shall please, So shall your brother be disposèd of.-- I like not this relenting mood in Edmund. Madam, 'tis good to look to him betimes. [_Aside to the_ QUEEN.

_Queen._ My lord, the Mayor of Bristow knows our mind.

_Y. Mor._ Yea, madam, and they scape not easily 50 That fled the field.

_Queen._ Baldock is with the king. A goodly chancellor, is he not, my lord?

_Sir J._ So are the Spencers, the father and the son.

_Kent._[292] This Edward is the ruin of the realm.

_Enter_ RICE AP HOWELL, _and the_ MAYOR OF BRISTOW, _with_ OLD SPENCER _prisoner._

_Rice._ God save queen Isabel, and her princely son! Madam, the mayor and citizens of Bristow, In sign of love and duty to this presence, Present by me this traitor to the state, Spencer, the father to that wanton Spencer, That, like the lawless Catiline of Rome, 60 Revelled in England's wealth and treasury.

_Queen._ We thank you all.

_Y. Mor._ Your loving care in this Deserveth princely favours and rewards. But where's the king and the other Spencer fled?

_Rice._ Spencer the son, created Earl of Gloucester, Is with that smooth-tongued scholar Baldock gone, And shipped but late for Ireland with the king.

_Y. Mor._ Some whirlwind fetch them back or sink them all! [_Aside._ They shall be started thence, I doubt it not.

_Prince._ Shall I not see the king my father yet? 70

_Kent._ Unhappy 's Edward, chased from England's bounds. [_Aside._ _Sir. J._ Madam, what resteth, why stand you in a muse?

_Queen._ I rue my lord's ill-fortune; but alas! Care of my country called me to this war.

_Y. Mor._ Madam, have done with care and sad complaint; Your King hath wronged your country and himself, And we must seek to right it as we may. Meanwhile, have hence this rebel to the block.

_O. Spen._ Rebel is he that fights against the prince; So fought not they that fought in Edward's right. 80

_Y. Mor._ Take him away, he prates; you, Rice ap Howell, Shall do good service to her majesty, Being of countenance in your country here, To follow these rebellious runagates. We in meanwhile, madam, must take advice, How Baldock, Spencer, and their complices, May in their fall be followed to their end. [_Exeunt Omnes._