Peace impudent, and shamelesse Warwicke,
Proud setter vp, and puller downe of Kings,
I will not hence, till with my Talke and Teares
(Both full of Truth) I make King Lewis behold
Thy slye conueyance, and thy Lords false loue,
Post blowing a horne Within.
For both of you are Birds of selfe-same Feather
Lewes. Warwicke, this is some poste to vs, or thee.
Enter the Poste.
Post. My Lord Ambassador,
These Letters are for you.
Speakes to Warwick,
Sent from your Brother Marquesse Montague.
These from our King, vnto your Maiesty.
To Lewis.
And Madam, these for you:
To Margaret
From whom, I know not.
They all reade their Letters.
Oxf. I like it well, that our faire Queene and Mistris
Smiles at her newes, while Warwicke frownes at his
Prince Ed. Nay marke how Lewis stampes as he were
netled. I hope, all's for the best
Lew. Warwicke, what are thy Newes?
And yours, faire Queene
Mar. Mine such, as fill my heart with vnhop'd ioyes
War. Mine full of sorrow, and hearts discontent
Lew. What? has your King married the Lady Grey?
And now to sooth your Forgery, and his,
Sends me a Paper to perswade me Patience?
Is this th' Alliance that he seekes with France?
Dare he presume to scorne vs in this manner?
Mar.
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