GLOSTER.
Alas! that Warwick had no more forecast,
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
The king was slily finger'd from the deck!
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace,
And ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower.

KING EDWARD.
'T is even so; yet you are Warwick still.

GLOSTER.
Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down.
Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools.

WARWICK.
I had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.

KING EDWARD.
Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend,
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,
Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off,
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,
'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.'

[Enter OXFORD, with Forces.]

WARWICK.