But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
A salve for any sore that may betide.

[Exeunt King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Lieutenant, and
attendants.]

SOMERSET.
My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's,
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
What may befall him, to his harm and ours;
Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,
Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany
Till storms be past of civil enmity.

OXFORD.
Ay; for if Edward repossess the crown,
'T is like that Richmond with the rest shall down.

SOMERSET.
It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.
Come therefore, let's about it speedily.

[Exeunt.]