_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.

_Kent._ Madam, long may you live,
Much happier than your friends in England do!
_Q. Isab._ Lord Edmund and Lord Mortimer alive!
Welcome to France! the news was here, my lord,
That you were dead, or very near your death.
_Y. Mor._ Lady, the last was truest of the twain:
But Mortimer, reserv'd for better hap,
Hath shaken off the thraldom of the Tower,
And lives t' advance your standard, good my lord.
_P. Edw._ How mean you, and the king my father lives?
No, my Lord Mortimer, not I, I trow.
_Q. Isab._ Not, son! Why not? I would it were no worse!--
But, gentle lords, friendless we are in France.
_Y. Mor._ Monsieur Le Grand, a noble friend of yours,
Told us, at our arrival, all the news,--
How hard the nobles, how unkind the king
Hath show'd himself: but, madam, right makes room
Where weapons want; and, though a many friends
Are made away, as Warwick, Lancaster,
And others of our part and faction,
Yet have we friends, assure your grace, in England,
Would cast up caps, and clap their hands for joy,
To see us there, appointed for our foes.
_Kent._ Would all were well, and Edward well reclaim'd,
For England's honour, peace, and quietness!
_Y. Mor._ But by the sword, my lord, 't must be deserv'd:
The king will ne'er forsake his flatterers.
_Sir