Those gracious words
Reuiue my drooping thoughts,
And giue my tongue-ty'd sorrowes leaue to speake.
Now therefore be it knowne to Noble Lewis,
That Henry, sole possessor of my Loue,
Is, of a King, become a banisht man,
And forc'd to liue in Scotland a Forlorne;
While prowd ambitious Edward, Duke of Yorke,
Vsurpes the Regall Title, and the Seat
Of Englands true anoynted lawfull King.
This is the cause that I, poore Margaret,
With this my Sonne, Prince Edward, Henries Heire,
Am come to craue thy iust and lawfull ayde:
And if thou faile vs, all our hope is done.
Scotland hath will to helpe, but cannot helpe:
Our People, and our Peeres, are both mis-led,
Our Treasure seiz'd, our Souldiors put to flight,
And (as thou seest) our selues in heauie plight
Lewis. Renowned Queene,
With patience calme the Storme,
While we bethinke a meanes to breake it off
Marg. The more wee stay, the stronger growes our
Foe
Lewis. The more I stay, the more Ile succour thee
Marg. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow.
And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow.
Enter Warwicke.
Lewis. What's hee approacheth boldly to our presence?
Marg. Our Earle of Warwicke, Edwards greatest
Friend
Lewis. Welcome braue Warwicke, what brings thee
to France?
Hee descends.
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