Prince.
Fly, father, fly, for all your friends are fled;
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.

Queen.
Mount you, my lord, toward Berwick post amain.
Edward and Richard, like a brace of grey-hounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel graspt in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.

Exe.
Away; for vengeance comes along with them.
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed:
Or else come after, I'll away before.

K. Henry.
Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter;
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the Queen intends. Forward, away. [Exeunt.

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