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Y. SPEN. It may become thee yet, To let us take our farewell of his grace.

ABBOT. My heart with pity yearns to see this sight,

A king to bear these words and proud commands. EDW. Spencer, sweet Spencer, thus then must we part?

Y. SPEN. We must, my lord, so will the angry heav'ns.

EDW. Nay so will hell and cruel Mortimer; The gentle heav'ns have not to do in this.

BALD. My lord, it is in vain to grieve or storm. Here humbly of your grace we take our leaves; Our lots are cast, I fear me, so is thine.

EDW. In heav'n we may, in earth ne'er shall we


And, Leicester, say, what shall become of us?

LEICES. Your majesty must go to Killingworth. EDW. Must! 'tis somewhat hard, when kings

must go.

LEICES. Here is a litter ready for your grace,
That waits your pleasure, and the day grows old.
RICE. As good be gone, as stay and be benighted.
EDW. A litter hast thou? lay me in a hearse,
And to the gates of hell convey me hence;
Let Pluto's bells ring out my fatal knell,

And hags howl for my death at Charon's shore,
For friend hath Edward none, but these; and these
Must die under a tyrant's sword.

RICE. My lord, be going; care not for these,

For we shall see them shorter by the heads.

EDW. Well, what shall be, shall be: part we must! Sweet Spencer, gentle Baldock, part we must! Hence feigned weeds! unfeigned are my woes; Father, farewell! Leicester, thou stay'st for me, And go I must. Life, farewell, with my friends.

[Exeunt Edward and Leicester.

Y. SPEN. O is he gone! is noble Edward gone! Parted from hence? never to see us more? Rend, sphere of heav'n! and, fire, forsake thy orb! Earth, melt to air! gone is my sovereign,

Gone, gone, alas! never to make return.

BALD. Spencer, I see our souls are fleeting hence;
We are depriv'd the sunshine of our life:
Make for a new life, man; throw up thy eyes,
And heart and hand to heav'n's immortal throne,
Pay nature's debt with cheerful countenance;
Reduce we all our lessons unto this,

To die, sweet Spencer, therefore live we all;
X Spencer, all live to die, and rise to fall.

RICE. Come, come, keep these preachments till
you come to the place appointed.

You, and such as you are, have made wise work in

Will your lordships away?

Mow. Your lordship I trust will remember me?

RICE. Remember thee, fellow ! what else?

Follow me to the town.




Enter the KING, LEICESTER, with the BISHOP of WINCHESTER for the crown, and others.

LEICES. Be patient, good my lord, cease to

Imagine Killingworth castle were your court,
And that you lay for pleasure here a space,
Not for compulsion or necessity.

EDW. Leicester, if gentle words might comfort me,
Thy speeches long ago had eas'd my sorrows;
For kind and loving hast thou always been.
The griefs of private men are soon allay'd,
But not of kings. The forest deer, being struck,
Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds;
But, when the imperial lion's flesh is gor'd,
He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw,
And highly scorning, that the lowly earth
Should drink his blood, mounts up to th' air.
And so it fares with me, whose dauntless mind
Th' ambitious Mortimer would seek to curb,
And that unnatural queen, false Isabel,
That thus hath pent and mu'd me in a prison:
For such outrageous passions cloy my soul,
As with the wings of rancour and disdain,
Full often am I soaring up to high heav'n,
To plain me to the gods against them both.
But when I call to mind I am a king,

Methinks I should revenge me of the wrongs,
That Mortimer and Isabel have done.
But what are kings, when regiment is gone,
But perfect shadows in a sunshine day?
My nobles rule, I bear the name of king;
I wear the crown but am controul'd by them,
By Mortimer, and my unconstant queen,
Who spots my nuptial bed with infamy;
Whilst I am lodg'd within this cave of care,
Where sorrow at my elbow still attends,

To company my heart with sad laments,

That bleeds within me for this strange exchange.
But tell me, must I now resign my crown,
To make usurping Mortimer a king?

WINCH. Your grace mistakes, it is for England's good,

And princely Edward's right, we crave the crown.
EDW. No, 'tis for Mortimer, not Edward's head;
For he's a lamb, encompassed by wolves,
Which in a moment will abridge his life.
But if proud Mortimer do wear this crown,
Heav'n turn it to a blaze of quenchless fire!
Or like the snaky wreath of Tisiphon,
Engirt the temples of his hateful head;

So shall not England's vine be perished,

But Edward's name survive, though Edward dies. LEICES. My lord, why waste you thus the time away?

They stay your answer, will you yield your crown?

EDW. Ah, Leicester, weigh how hardly I can brook

To lose my crown and kingdom without cause;
To give ambitious Mortimer my right,
That like a mountain overwhelms my bliss,
In which extremes my mind here murther'd is.
But what the heav'ns appoint, I must obey!
Here, take my crown; the life of Edward too;
Two kings in England cannot reign at once.
But stay awhile, let me be king till night, x
That I may gaze upon this glittering crown;
So shall my eyes receive their last content,
My head, the latest honour due to it,
And jointly both yield up their wished right.
Continue ever thou celestial sun;

Let never silent night possess this clime:
Stand still you watches of the element;
All times and seasons, rest you at a stay,
That Edward may be still fair England's king;
But day's bright beam doth vanish fast away,
And needs I must resign my wished crown.
Inhuman creatures! nurs'd with tiger's milk!
Why gape you for your sovereign's overthrow!
My diadem I mean, and guiltless life.
See monsters, see, I'll wear my crown again!
[He puts on the crown.
What, fear you not the fury of your king?
But hapless Edward, thou art fondly led,
They pass not for thy frowns as late they did,
But seek to make a new-elected king;

Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts,
Which thoughts are martyred with endless torments,

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