Sinklo.
Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud our selves,
For through this laund anon the Deer will come;
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the Deer.

Hum.
I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

Sink.
That cannot be: the noise of thy cross-bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost:
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best.
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befell me on a day,
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

Sink.
Here comes a man, let's stay 'till he be past. Enter King Henry, with a prayer-book.

K. Henry.
From Scotland am I stol'n ev'n of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight:
No Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine,
Thy place is fill'd, thy scepter wrung from thee,
Thy balm washt off wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,
No humble suitors press to speak for right:
No, not a man comes for redress to thee;

For how can I help them, and not my self?

Sink.
Ay, here's a deer, whose skin's a keeper's fee:
This is the quondam King, let's seize upon him.

K. Henry.
Let me embrace ^{a note}these sour adversities,
For wise men say it is the wisest course.

Hum.
Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

Sink.
Forbear a while, we'll hear a little more.

K. Henry.
My Queen and son are gone to France for aid:
And as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone to crave the French King's sister
To wife for Edward. If this news be true,
Poor Queen and son! your labour is but lost:
For Warwick is a subtle orator,
And Lewis a Prince soon won with moving words:
By this account then Margaret may win him,
For she's a woman to be pitied much:
Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;
The Tyger will be mild while she doth mourn,
And Nero would be tainted with remorse,
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears.
Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give:
She on his left side craving aid for Henry;
He on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says her Henry is depos'd;
He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd;
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more!
While Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong,
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion wins the King from her,
With promise of his sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support King Edward's place.
O Marg'ret, thus 'twill be, and thou (poor soul)

Art thou forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

Hum.
Say, what art thou that talk'st of Kings and Queens?

K. Henry.
More than I seem, and less than I was born to;
A man at least, for less I should not be;
And men may talk of Kings, and why not I?

Hum.
Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a King.

K. Henry.
Why so I am in mind, and that's enough.

Hum.
But if thou be a King, where is thy crown?

K. Henry.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head:
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones;
Not to be seen: my crown is call'd Content,
A crown it is that seldom Kings enjoy.

Hum.
Well, if you be a King crown'd with content,
Your crown Content and you must be contented
To go along with us. For as we think,
You are the King, King Edward hath depos'd:
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance,
Will apprehend you as his enemy.

K. Henry.
But did you never swear, and break an oath?

Hum.
No, never such an oath, and will not now.

K. Henry.
Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Hum.
Here in this country where we now remain.

K. Henry.
I was anointed King at nine months old,
My father and my grandfather were Kings;
And you were sworn true subjects unto me:
And tell me then, have you not broke your oaths?

Sink.
No, we were subjects but while you were King.

K. Henry.
Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man?
Ah simple men, you know not what you swear:
Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
And as the air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,

Commanded always by the greater gust;
Such is the lightness of you common men.
But do not break your oath, for of that sin
My mild intreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the King shall be commanded,
And be you Kings, command, and I'll obey.

Sink.
We are true subjects to the King, King Edward.

K. Henry.
So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as King Edward is.

Sink.
We charge you in God's name and in the King's
To go with us unto the officers.

K. Henry.
In God's name lead, your King's name be obey'd;
And what God will, that let your King perform,
And what he will I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clarence, and Lady Gray.

K. Edw.
Brother of Glo'ster, at St. Alban's field
This lady's husband, ^{a note}Sir John Gray, was slain,
His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror:
Her suit is now to repossess those lands,
Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the house of York
The worthy gentleman did lose his life.

Glo.
Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit:
It were dishonour to deny it her.

K. Edw.
It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

Glo.
Yea! is it so?
I see the lady hath a thing to grant,
Before the King will grant her humble suit.

Clar.
He knows the game, how true he keeps the wind?

Glo.
Silence.

K. Edw.
Widow, we will consider of your suit,
And come some other time to know our mind.

Gray.
Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay.
May't please your Highness to resolve me now;
And what your pleasure is shall satisfie me.

Glo.
Ay, widow! then I'll warrant you all your lands,
And if what pleases him shall pleasure you:
Fight closer, or good faith you'll catch a blow.

Clar.
I fear her not, unless she chance to fall.

Glo.
God forbid that, for he'll take vantages.

K. Edw.
How many children hast thou, widow? tell me.

Clar.
I think he means to beg a child of her.

Glo.
Nay whip me then: he'll rather give her two.

Gray.
Three, my most gracious lord.

Glo.
You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by him.

K. Edw.
'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands.

Gray.
Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

K. Edw.
Lords give us leave, I'll try this widow's wit.

Glo.
Ay, good leave have you, for you will have leave,
'Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch.

K. Edw.
Now tell me madam, do you love your children?

Gray.
Ay, full as dearly as I love my self.

K. Edw.
And would you not do much to do them good?

Gray.
To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

K. Edw.
Then get your husband's lands, to do them good.

Gray.
Therefore I came unto your Majesty.

K. Edw.
I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.

Gray.
So shall you bind me to your Highness' service.

K. Edw.
What service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

Gray.
What you command that rests in me to do.

K. Edw.
But you will take exceptions to my boon.

Gray.
No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

K. Edw.
Ay but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

Gray.
Why then I will do what your grace commands.

Glo.
He plies her hard, and much rain wears the marble.

Clar.
As red as fire! nay then her wax must melt.

Gray.
Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my task?

K. Edw.
An easie task, 'tis but to love a King.

Gray.
That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

K. Edw.
Why then thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

Gray.
I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

Glo.
The match is made, she seals it with a curtsie.

K. Edw.
But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.

Gray.
The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

K. Edw.
Ay, but I fear me in another sense.
What love think'st thou I sue so much to get?

Gray.
My love 'till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants.

K. Edw.
No by my troth, I did not mean such love.

Gray.
Why then you mean not as I thought you did.

K. Edw.
But now you partly may perceive my mind.

Gray.
My mind will never grant what I perceive
Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.

K. Edw.
To tell thee plain, I aim to lye with thee.

Gray.
To tell you plain, I'd rather lye in prison.

K. Edw.
Why then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.

Gray.
Why then mine honesty shall be my dower,
For by that loss I will not purchase them.

K. Edw.
Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.

Gray.
Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me:
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit;
Please you dismiss me, or with ay or no.

K. Edw.
Ay; if thou wilt say Ay to my request:
No; if thou dost say No to my demand.

Gray.
Then no, my lord; my suit is at an end.

Glo.
The widow likes him not, she knits her brows.

Clar.
He is the bluntest wooer in christendom.

K. Edw.
Her looks do argue her replete with modesty,
Her words do shew her wit incomparable,
All her perfections challenge sovereignty;
One way or other she is for a King,
And she shall be my love, or else my Queen.
Say that King Edward take thee for his Queen?

Gray.
'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord;
I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a soveraign.

K. Edw.
Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee,
I speak no more than what my soul intends,
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.

Gray.
And that is more than I will yield unto:
I know I am too mean to be your Queen,
And yet too good to be your concubine.

K. Edw.
You cavil, widow; I did mean my Queen.

Gray.
'Twill grieve your grace my sons shall call you father.

K. Edw.
No more than when my daughters call thee mother.
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children;
And by God's mother, I being but a batchelor
Have other some: why 'tis a happy thing,
To be the father unto many sons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queen.

Glo.
The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.

Clar.
When he was made a shriver, it was for a shift.

K. Edw.
Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.

Glo.
The widow likes it not, for she looks sad.

K. Edw.
You'd think it strange, if I should marry her.

Clar.
To whom, my lord?

K. Edw.
Why Clarence, to my self.

Glo.
That would be ten days wonder at the least.

Clar.
That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.

Glo.
By so much is the wonder in extreams.

K. Edw.
Well, jest on brothers, I can tell you both,
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Enter a Nobleman.

Nob.
My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.

K. Edw.
See that he be convey'd unto the Tower:
And go we brothers, to the man that took him,
To question of his apprehension.
Widow, go you along: Lords, use her honourably. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Manet Gloucester.

Glo.
Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for.
And yet between my soul's desire and me,
(The lustful Edward's title buried)
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
And all th' unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,
To take their rooms ere I can place my self.
A cold premeditation for my purpose!
Why then I do but dream on Sov'reignty,
Like one that stands upon a promontory
And spyes a far-off shore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
Saying he'll lade it dry to have his way:

So do I wish the crown being so far off,
And so I chide the means that keep me from it,
And so (I say) I'll out the causes off,
Flatt'ring my mind with things impossible.
My eye's too quick, my heart o'er-weens too much,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard:
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And 'witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
Oh miserable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.
Why love forswore me in my mother's womb,
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm like to a wither'd shrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
To disproportion me in every part:
Like to a Chaos, or unlick'd bear-whelp
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
Oh monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
Then since this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'er-bear such
As are of better person than my self;
I'll make my heav'n to dream upon the crown,
And while I live t'account this world but hell,
Until the mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head
Be round-impaled with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,

For many lives stand between me and home:
And I, (like one lost in a thorny wood,
That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way, and straying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling desp'rately to find it out)
Torment my self to catch the English crown.
And from that torment I will free my self,
Or hew my way out with a bloody ax.
Why I can smile, and murther while I smile,
And cry content to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions:
I'll drown more sailors then the Mermaid shall,
I'll slay more gazers than the Basilisk,
I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
And like a Sinon, take another Troy:
I can add colours ev'n to the Camelion,
Change shapes with Proteus, for advantages,
And set the murth'rous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit. SCENE IV. Changes to FRANCE. Flourish. Enter King Lewis, Lady Bona, Bourbon, Prince of Wales, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis sits, and riseth up again.

K. Lew.
Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,
Sit down with us; it ill befits thy state,

And birth, that thou should'st stand while Lewis sits.

Queen.
No, mighty King of France; now Margaret
Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve,
Where Kings command. I was, I must confess,
Great Albion's Queen in former golden days:
But now mischance hath trod my title down,
And with dishonour laid me on the ground,
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
And to my humble seat conform my self.

K. Lew.
Why say, fair Queen, whence springs this deep despair?

Queen.
From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears
And stops my tongue, while my heart's drown'd in cares.

K. Lew.
Whate'er it be, be thou still like thy self,
And sit thee by our side. [Seats her by him.
Yield not thy neck
To fortune's yoak, but let thy dauntless mind
Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.

Queen.
Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts,
And give my tongue-ty'd sorrows leave to speak.
Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis,
That Henry, sole possessor of my love,
Is of a King become a banish'd man,
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn;
While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York
Usurps the regal title, and the seat
Of England's true anointed lawful King.
This is the cause that I poor Margaret,
With this my son Prince Edward, Henry's heir,
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid:
And if thou fail us, all our hope is done.
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help:

Our people and our Peers are both mis-led,
Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight,
And as thou seest, our selves in heavy plight.

K. Lew.
Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm,
While we bethink a means to break it off.

Queen.
The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe.

K. Lew.
The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.

Queen.
O but impatience waiteth on true sorrow:
And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow. SCENE V. Enter Warwick.

K. Lew.
What's he approacheth boldly to our presence?

Queen.
Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.

K. Lew.
Welcome, brave Warwick, what brings thee to France? [He descends. She ariseth.

Queen.
Ay, now begins a second storm to rise,
For this is he that moves both wind and tide.

War.
From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
My lord and Sov'raign, and thy vowed friend,
I come (in kindness and unfeigned love)
First to do greetings to thy royal person,
And then to crave a league of amity;
And lastly, to confirm that amity
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister,
To England's King in lawful marriage.

Queen.
If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.

War.
And gracious madam, in our King's behalf, [Speaking to Bona.
I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue

To tell the passion of my Sov'raign's heart;
Where fame late ent'ring at his heedful ears,
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue.

Queen.
King Lewis, and lady Bona, hear me speak,
Before you answer Warwick. His demand
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love,
But from deceit bred by necessity:
For how can tyrants safely govern home,
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?
To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,
That Henry liveth still; but were he dead,
Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son.
Look therefore Lewis that by this league and marriage
Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour:
For tho' usurpers sway the rule a while,
Yet heav'ns are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.

War.
Injurious Margaret.

Prince.
And why not Queen?

War.
Because thy father Henry did usurp,
And thou no more art Prince than she is Queen.

Oxf.
Then Warwick disanuls great John of Gaunt,
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain;
And after John of Gaunt, Henry the fourth,
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest;
And after that wise Prince, Henry the fifth,
Who by his prowess conquered all France:
From these our Henry lineally descends.

War.
Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse,
You told not how Henry the sixth hath lost
All that which Henry the fifth had gotten;
Methinks these peers of France should smile at that.
But for the rest; you tell a pedigree
Of threescore and two years, a silly time

To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.

Oxf.
Why Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege
Whom thou obeyedst thirty and six years,
And not bewray thy treason with a blush?

War.
Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,
Now buckler falshood with a pedigree?
For shame leave Henry, and call Edward King.

Oxf.
Call him my King, by whose injurious doom
My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere,
Was done to death? and more than so, my father,
Even in the downfal of his mellow'd years,
When nature brought him to the door of death?
No Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm,
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.

War.
And I the house of York.

K. Lew.
Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford
Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside,
While I use farther conference with Warwick. [They stand aloof.

Queen.
Heav'ns grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not.

K. Lew.
Now Warwick tell me even upon thy conscience,
Is Edward your true King? for I were loth
To link with him that were not lawful chosen.

War.
Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour.

K. Lew.
But is he gracious in the people's eyes?

War.
The more that Henry was unfortunate.

K. Lew.
Then further; all dissembling set aside,
Tell me for truth the measure of his love
Unto our sister Bona.

War.
Such it seems
As may beseem a monarch like himself:
My self have often heard him say and swear

That this his love was an external plant,
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun,
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
Unless the lady Bona quit his pain.

K. Lew.
Now sister, let us hear your firm resolve.

Bona.
Your grant or your denial shall be mine.
Yet I confess, that often ere this day, [Speaks to Warwick.
When I have heard your King's desert recounted,
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.

K. Lew.
Then Warwick, this: our sister shall be Edward's.
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
Touching the jointure that your King must make,
Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd.
Draw near Queen Margaret, and be a witness
That Bona shall be wife to th' English King.

Prince.
To Edward, but not to the English King.

Queen.
Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device
By this alliance to make void my suit;
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend.

K. Lew.
And still is friend to him and Margaret;
But if your title to the crown be weak,
As may appear by Edward's good success;
Then 'tis but reason that I be releas'd
From giving aid, which late I promised.
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand,
That your estate requires and mine can yield.

War.
Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease,
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
And as for you your self, our quondam Queen,
You have a father able to maintain you,
And better 'twere you troubled him than France.

Queen.
Peace impudent and shameless Warwick, peace,

Proud setter-up and puller down of Kings.
I will not hence, 'till with my talk and tears
(Both full of truth) I make King Lewis behold
Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love, [Post blowing a horn within.
For both of you are birds of self-same feather.

K. Lew.
Warwick, this is some post to us or thee. SCENE VI. Enter a Post.

Post.
My lord ambassador, these letters are for you; [To Warwick.
Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague.
These from our King unto your Majesty. [To K. Lew.
And madam, these for you, [To the Queen.
From whom I know not. [They all read their Letters.

Oxf.
I like it well, that our fair Queen and mistress
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.

Prince.
Nay mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled.
I hope all's for the best.

K. Lew.
Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair Queen?

Queen.
Mine such as fills my heart with unhop'd joys.

War.
Mine full of sorrow and heart's discontent.

K. Lew.
What! has your King marry'd the lady Gray?
And now, to sooth your forgery and his,
Sends me a paper to perswade me patience?
Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France?
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner?

Queen.
I told your Majesty as much before;
This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty.

War.
King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heav'n,

And by the hope I have of heav'nly bliss,
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's:
No more my King; for he dishonours me,
But most himself, if he could see his shame.
Did I forget that by the house of York
My father came untimely to his death?
Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece?
Did I impale him with the regal crown?
Did I put Henry from his native right?
And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame?
Shame on himself, for my desert is honour.
And to repair my honour lost for him,
I here renounce him, and return to Henry.
My noble Queen, let former grudges pass,
And henceforth I am thy true servitor:
I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona,
And replant Henry in his former state.

Queen.
Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love,
And I forgive and quite forget old faults,
And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend.

War.
So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,
That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us
With some few bands of chosen soldiers,
I'll undertake to land them on our coast,
And force the tyrant from his seat by war.
'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him:
And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me,
He's very likely now to fall from him,
For matching more for wanton lust than honour,
Or than for strength and safety of our country.

Bona.
Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd,
But by thy help to this distressed Queen?

Queen.
Renowned Prince, how shall poor Henry live,

Unless thou rescue him from foul despair?

Bona.
My quarrel and this English Queen's are one.

War.
And mine fair lady Bona, joins with yours.

K. Lew.
And mine, with hers, and thine, and Margaret's.
Therefore at last I firmly am resolv'd
You shall have aid.

Queen.
Let me give humble thanks for all at once.

K. Lew.
Then England's messenger return in post,
And tell false Edward, thy supposed King,
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers
To revel it with him and his new bride.
Thou seest what's past, go fear thy King withal.

Bona.
Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I wear the willow garland for his sake.

Queen.
Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside,
And I am ready to put armor on.

War.
Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
There's thy reward, be gone. [Exit Post.

K. Lew.
But Warwick,
Thou and Oxford with five thousand men
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battel:
And as occasion serves, this noble Queen
And Prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
Yet ere thou go, but answer me one doubt:
What Pledge have we of thy firm loyalty?

War.
This shall assure my constant loyalty,
That if our Queen and this young Prince agree,
I'll join my eldest daughter and my joy
To him forthwith, in holy wedlock bands.

Queen.
Yes I agree, and thank you for your motion.
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous,
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick,

And with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable,
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.

Prince.
Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it:
And here to pledge my vow, I give my hand. [He gives his hand to Warwick.

K. Lew.
Why stay we now? these soldiers shall be levy'd,
And thou lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.
I long 'till Edward fall by war's mischance,
For mocking marriage with a dame of France. [Exeunt. Manet Warwick.

War.
I came from Edward as ambassador,
But I return his sworn and mortal foe:
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a stale but me?
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown,
And I'll be chief to bring him down again:
Not that I pity Henry's misery,
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit.

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