Madam, what makes you in this sudden change?

Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn

What late misfortune is befall’n King Edward?

What, loss of some pitched battle against Warwick?

No, but the loss of his own royal person.

Then is my sovereign slain?

Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner,

Either betrayed by falsehood of his guard

Or by his foe surprised at unawares;

And, as I further have to understand,

Is new committed to the Bishop of York,

Fell Warwick’s brother and by that our foe.

These news, I must confess, are full of grief;

Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may.

Warwick may lose that now hath won the day.

Till then, fair hope must hinder life’s decay;

And I the rather wean me from despair

For love of Edward’s offspring in my womb.

This is it that makes me bridle passion

And bear with mildness my misfortune’s cross,

Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear

And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,

Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown

King Edward’s fruit, true heir to th’ English crown.

But, madam, where is Warwick then become?

I am informed that he comes towards London

To set the crown once more on Henry’s head.

Guess thou the rest: King Edward’s friends must down.

But to prevent the tyrant’s violence—

For trust not him that hath once broken faith—

I’ll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary

To save at least the heir of Edward’s right.

There shall I rest secure from force and fraud.

Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly.

If Warwick take us, we are sure to die.