Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy
Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts
90 And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
[♦] As hating thee, are rising up in arms:
And now the house of York, thrust from the crown
95 By shameful murder of a guiltless king
[♦] And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,
Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours