_K. Edw._ Thus, after many threats of wrathful war, Triumpheth England's Edward with his friends, And triumph Edward with his friends uncontroll'd!-- My Lord of Glocester, do you hear the news? _Y. Spen._ What news, my lord? _K. Edw._ Why, man, they say there is great execution Done through the realm.--My Lord of Arundel, You have the note, have you not? _Arun._From the Lieutenant of the Tower, my lord. _K. Edw._ I pray, let us see it. [_Takes the note from Arundel._ --What have we there?-- Read it, Spenser. [_Gives the note to young Spenser, who reads their names._ Why, so: they bark'd apace a month ago; Now, on my life, they'll neither bark nor bite. Now, sirs, the news from France? Glocester, I trow, The lords of France love England's gold so well As Isabella gets no aid from thence. What now remains? have you proclaim'd, my lord, Reward for them can bring in Mortimer? _Y. Spen._ My lord, we have; and, if he be in England, 'A will be had ere long, I doubt it not. _K. Edw._ If, dost thou say? Spenser, as true as death, He is in England's ground: our port-masters Are not so careless of their king's command. _Enter a_ Messenger. How now! what news with thee? from whence come these? _Mess._ Letters, my lord, and tidings forth of France: To you, my Lord of Glocester, from Levune. [_Gives letters to young Spenser._ _K. Edw._ Read. _Y. Spen._ [reading.] _My duty to your honour promised, etc., I have, according to instructions in that behalf, dealt with the King of France and his lords, and effected that the queen, all discontented and discomforted, is gone: whither, if you ask, with Sir John of Hainault, brother to the marquis, into Flanders. With them are gone Lord Edmund and the Lord Mortimer, having in their company divers of your nation, and others; and, as constant report goeth, they intend to give King Edward battle in England, sooner than he can look for them. This is all the news of import. Your honour's in all service, Levune._ _K. Edw._ Ah, villains, hath that Mortimer escap'd? With him is Edmund gone associate? And will Sir John of Hainault lead the round? Welcome, o' God's name, madam, and your son! England shall welcome you and all your rout. Gallop apace, bright Phoebus, through the sky; And, dusky Night, in rusty iron car, Between you both shorten the time, I pray, That I may see that most desired day, When we may meet these traitors in the field! Ah, nothing grieves me, but my little boy Is thus misled to countenance their ills! Come, friends, to Bristow, there to make us strong: And, winds, as equal be to bring them in, As you injurious were to bear them forth! [_Exeunt._