[Exit, from above.]


[Enter King Edward, Warwick, Artois, with others.]

KING EDWARD.
What, are the stealing Foxes fled and gone,
Before we could uncouple at their heels?

WARWICK.
They are, my liege; but, with a cheerful cry,
Hot hounds and hardy chase them at the heels.

[Enter Countess.]

KING EDWARD.
This is the Countess, Warwick, is it not?

WARWICK.
Even she, my liege; whose beauty tyrants fear,
As a May blossom with pernicious winds,
Hath sullied, withered, overcast, and done.

KING EDWARD.
Hath she been fairer, Warwick, than she is?

WARWICK.
My gracious King, fair is she not at all,
If that her self were by to stain her self,
As I have scene her when she was her self.