Come Yorke, and Richard, Warwike and the rest,
[♦] I stabde your fathers, now come split my brest.
Enter Edward, Richard, and Warwike, and Souldiers.
[♦] Edw. Thus farre our fortunes keepes an vpward
[95] Course, and we are grast with wreathes of victorie.
Some troopes pursue the bloudie minded Queene,
That now towards Barwike doth poste amaine,
But thinke you that Clifford is fled awaie with them?
War. No, tis impossible he should escape,
100 For though before his face I speake the words,