War. My brother was too careless of his charge.
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
[♦] A salve for any sore that may betide. [Exeunt all but Somerset, Richmond, and Oxford.
Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward’s;
90 For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help,
And we shall have more wars before’t be long.
As Henry’s late presaging prophecy
Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond,
So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts
95 What may befall him, to his harm and ours: