Faire blowes the winde for Fraunce, blowe gentle gale,
Till Edmund be arrivde for Englands good,
Nature, yeeld to my countries cause in this.
A brother, no, a butcher of thy friends,
Proud Edward, doost thou banish me thy presence?
But ile to Fraunce, and cheere the wronged Queene,
And certifie what Edwards loosenes is.
Unnaturall king, to slaughter noble men
And cherish flatterers:
Mortimer I stay thy sweet escape,
Stand gratious gloomie night to his device.
