_Q. Isab._ Ah, boy, our friends do fail us all in France! The lords are cruel, and the king unkind. What shall we do? _P. Edw._ Madam, return to England, And please my father well; and then a fig For all my uncle's friendship here in France! I warrant you, I'll win his highness quickly; 'A loves me better than a thousand Spensers. _Q. Isab._ Ah, boy, thou art deceiv'd, at least in this, To think that we can yet be tun'd together! No, no, we jar too far.--Unkind Valois! Unhappy Isabel, when France rejects, Whither, O, whither dost thou bend thy steps? _Enter_ SIR JOHN OF HAINAULT. _Sir J._ Madam, what cheer? _Q. Isab._ Ah, good Sir John of Hainault, Never so cheerless nor so far distrest! _Sir J._ I hear, sweet lady, of the king's unkindness: But droop not, madam; noble minds contemn Despair. Will your grace with me to Hainault, And there stay time's advantage with your son?-- How say you, my lord! will you go with your friends, And shake off all our fortunes equally? _P. Edw._ So pleaseth the queen my mother, me it likes: The king of England, not the court of France, Shall have me from my gracious mother's side, Till I be strong enough to break a staff; And then have at the proudest Spenser's head! _Sir J._ Well said, my lord! _Q. Isab._ O my sweet heart, how do I moan thy wrongs, Yet triumph in the hope of thee, my joy!-- Ah, sweet Sir John, even to the utmost verge Of Europe, on the shore of Tanais, Will we with thee to Hainault--so we will: The marquis is a noble gentleman; His grace, I dare presume, will welcome me.-- But who are these? _Enter_ KENT _and the younger_ MORTIMER.