_Edw._ What! was I born to fly and run away, And leave the Mortimers conquerors behind? Give me my horse, and let's re'nforce our troops: And in this bed of honour die with fame. _Bald._ O no, my lord, this princely resolution Fits not the time; away, we are pursued. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ KENT _alone, with his sword and target._ _Kent._ This way he fled, but I am come too late. 10 Edward, alas! my heart relents for thee. Proud traitor, Mortimer, why dost thou chase Thy lawful king, thy sovereign, with thy sword? Vild wretch! and why hast thou, of all unkind, Borne arms against thy brother and thy king? Rain showers of vengeance on my cursèd head, Thou God, to whom in justice it belongs To punish this unnatural revolt! Edward, this Mortimer aims at thy life! O fly him, then! but, Edmund, calm this rage, 20 Dissemble, or thou diest; for Mortimer And Isabel do kiss, while they conspire: And yet she bears a face of love forsooth. Fie on that love that hatcheth death and hate! Edmund, away; Bristow to Longshanks' blood Is false; be not found single for suspect: Proud Mortimer pries near unto thy walks. _Enter the_ QUEEN, MORTIMER, _the_ Young Prince, _and_ SIR JOHN OF HAINAULT. _Queen._ Successful[291] battle gives the God of kings To them that fight in right, and fear his wrath. Since then successfully we have prevailed, 30 Thankèd be heaven's great architect, and you. Ere farther we proceed, my noble lords, We here create our well-belovèd 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? 40 _Prince._ Tell me, good uncle, what Edward do you mean? _Kent._ Nephew, your father: I dare not call him king. _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 disposèd of.-- I like not this relenting mood in Edmund. Madam, 'tis good to look to him betimes. [_Aside to the_ QUEEN. _Queen._ My lord, the Mayor of Bristow knows our mind. _Y. Mor._ Yea, madam, and they scape not easily 50 That fled the field. _Queen._ Baldock is with the king. A goodly chancellor, is he not, my lord? _Sir J._ So are the Spencers, the father and the son. _Kent._[292] This Edward is the ruin of the realm. _Enter_ RICE AP HOWELL, _and the_ MAYOR OF BRISTOW, _with_ OLD SPENCER _prisoner._