2602War. What counsaile, Lords? Edward from Belgia,

2603With hastie Germanes, and blunt Hollanders,

2604Hath pass'd in safetie through the Narrow Seas,

2605And with his troupes doth march amaine to London,

2606And many giddie people flock to him.

2607King. Let's leuie men, and beat him backe againe.

2608Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out,

2609Which being suffer'd, Riuers cannot quench.

2610War. In Warwickshire I haue true-hearted friends,

2611Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in Warre,

2612Those will I muster vp: and thou Sonne Clarence

2613Shalt stirre vp in Suffolke, Norfolke, and in Kent,

2614The Knights and Gentlemen, to come with thee.

2615Thou Brother Mountague, in Buckingham,

2616Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find

2617Men well enclin'd to heare what thou command'st.

2618And thou, braue Oxford, wondrous well belou'd,

2619In Oxfordshire shalt muster vp thy friends.

2620My Soueraigne, with the louing Citizens,

2621Like to his Iland, gyrt in with the Ocean,

2622Or modest Dyan, circled with her Nymphs,

2623Shall rest in London, till we come to him:

2624Faire Lords take leaue, and stand not to reply.

2625Farewell my Soueraigne.

2626King. Farewell my Hector, and my Troyes true hope.

2627Clar. In signe of truth, I kisse your Highnesse Hand.

2628King. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate.

2629Mount. Comfort, my Lord, and so I take my leaue.

2630Oxf. And thus I seale my truth, and bid adieu.

2631King. Sweet Oxford, and my louing Mountague,

2632And all at once, once more a happy farewell.

2633War. Farewell, sweet Lords, let's meet at Couentry.

2635King. Here at the Pallace will I rest a while.

2636Cousin of Exeter, what thinkes your Lordship?

2637Me thinkes, the Power that Edward hath in field,

2638Should not be able to encounter mine.

2639Exet. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest.

2640 King. That's not my feare, my meed hath got me fame:

2641I haue not stopt mine eares to their demands,

2642Nor posted off their suites with slow delayes,

2643My pittie hath beene balme to heale their wounds,

2644My mildnesse hath allay'd their swelling griefes,

2645My mercie dry'd their water-flowing teares.

2646I haue not been desirous of their wealth,

2647Nor much opprest them with great Subsidies,

2648Nor forward of reuenge, though they much err'd.

2649Then why should they loue Edward more then me?

2650No Exeter, these Graces challenge Grace:

q2 And

2651And when the Lyon fawnes vpon the Lambe,

2652The Lambe will neuer cease to follow him.

2654 Exet. Hearke, hearke, my Lord, what Shouts are

2655these?

2657 Edw. Seize on the shamefac'd Henry, beare him hence,

2658And once againe proclaime vs King of England.

2659You are the Fount, that makes small Brookes to flow,

2660Now stops thy Spring, my Sea shall suck them dry,

2661And swell so much the higher, by their ebbe.

2662Hence with him to the Tower, let him not speake.

2664And Lords, towards Couentry bend we our course,

2665Where peremptorie Warwicke now remaines:

2666The Sunne shines hot, and if we vse delay,

2667Cold biting Winter marres our hop'd-for Hay.

2668Rich. Away betimes, before his forces ioyne,

2669And take the great-growne Traytor vnawares:

2670Braue Warriors, march amaine towards Couentry.