Exeunt. Enter Kent alone with a sword and target.
KENT. This way he fled, but I am come too late.
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 cursed 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;
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! Bristol to Longshanks' blood
Is false; be not found single for suspect.
Proud Mortimer pries near into thy walks.
Enter the Queen, Mortimer, Prince Edward, and Sir John of Hainault.
ISABELLA. Successful battles gives the God of kings
To them that fight in right and fear his wrath.
Since then successfully we have prevailed,
Thanks 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 unfortunate,
Deal you, my lords, in this, my loving lords,
As to your wisdoms fittest seems in all.
KENT. Madam, without offense if I may ask
How will you deal with Edward in his fall?
PRINCE EDWARD. Tell me, good uncle, what Edward do you mean?
KENT. Nephew, your father; I dare not call him King.
MORTIMER. 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.
Aside, to the Queen I like not this relenting mood in Edmund.
Madam, 'tis good to look to him betimes.
ISABELLA. My lord, the mayor of Bristol knows our mind.
MORTIMER. Yea, madam; and they scape not easily
That fled the field.
ISABELLA. Baldock is with the King.
A goodly chancellor, is he not, my lord?
SIR JOHN. So are the Spencers, the father and the son.
KENT. This Edward is the ruin of the realm.
Enter Rice ap Howell and the mayor of Bristol, with Spencer the father.
RICE AP HOWELL. God save Queen Isabel and her princely son!
Madam, the mayor and citizens of Bristol,
In sign of love and duty to this presence,
Present by me this traitor to the state,
Spencer, the father to that wanton Spencer,
That, like the lawless catiline of Rome,
Revell'd in England's wealth and treasury.
ISABELLA. We thank you all.
MORTIMER. Your loving care in this
Deserveth princely favours and rewards.
But where's the King and the other Spencer fled?
RICE AP HOWELL. Spencer the son, created Earl of Gloucester,
Is with that smooth tongued scholar Baldock gone
And shipped but late for Ireland with the King.
MORTIMER. Some whirlwind fetch them back, or sink them all.
They shall be started thence, I doubt it not.
PRINCE EDWARD. Shall I not see the King my father yet?
KENT. Unhappy's Edward, chased from England's bounds.
SIR JOHN. Madam, what resteth? Why stand ye in a muse?
ISABELLA. I rue my lord's ill fortune; but, alas,
Care of my country called me to this war!
MORTIMER. Madam, have done with care and sad complaint.
Your king hath wronged your country and himself,
And we must seek to right it as we may.
Meanwhile, have hence this rebel to the block.
Your lordship cannot privilege your head.
SPENCER THE FATHER. Rebel is he that fights against his prince:
So fought not they that fought in Edward's right.
MORTIMER.