York. I know our fafety is to follow them,
For, as I hear, the King is fled to London,
To call a prefent Court of Parliament.
Let us purfue him e'er the Writs go forth.
What fays Lord Warwick, fhall we after them?
War. After them! nay, before them, if we can:
Now by my Hand, Lords, 'twas a glorious Day.
St. Alban's Battel won by famous Tork,
Shall be eterniz'd in all Age to come.
Sound Drum and Trumpets, and to London all,
And more fuch Days as these to us befall.
The End of the Third Volume.