Alarmes and enter the Queene.
Queene. Awaie my Lord to Barwicke presentlie,
The daie is lost, our friends are murdered,
[♦] No hope is left for vs, therefore awaie.
Enter prince Edward.
Prince. Oh father flie, our men haue left the field,
60 Take horse sweet father, let us saue our selues.
Enter Exeter.
[♦] Exet. Awaie my Lord for vengeance comes along with him:
Nay stand not to expostulate make hast,