_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA, PRINCE EDWARD, _the younger_ MORTIMER, _and_ SIR JOHN JOHN OF HAINAULT. _Q. Isab._ Successful battle gives the God of kings To them that fight in right, and fear in wrath, Since, then, successfully we have prevail'd, Thanked be heaven's great architect, and you! Ere farther we proceed, my noble lords, We here create our well-beloved son, Of love and care unto his royal person, Lord Warden of the realm; and, sith the Fates Have made his father so infortunate, Deal you, my lords, in this, my loving lords, As to your wisdoms fittest seems in all. _Kent._ Madam, without offence if I may ask How will you deal with Edward in his fall? _P. Edw._ Tell me, good uncle, what Edward do you mean? _Kent._ Nephew, your father; I dare not call him king. _Y. Mor._ My Lord of Kent, what needs these questions? 'Tis not in her controlment nor in ours; But as the realm and parliament shall please, So shall your brother be disposed of.-- I like not this relenting mood in Edmund: Madam, 'tis good to look to him betimes. [_Aside to the Queen._ _Q. Isab._ My lord, the Mayor of Bristow knows our mind. _Y. Mor._ Yea, madam; and they scape not easily That fled the field. _Q. Isab._ Baldock is with the king: A goodly chancellor, is he not, my lord? _Sir J._ So are the Spensers, the father and the son. _Y. Mor._ This Edward is the ruin of the realm. _Enter_ RICE AP HOWEL _with the elder_ SPENSER _prisoner, and_ Attendants.