They stay your answer, will you yield your crown? See, monsters, see, I'll wear my crown again. Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts, But that I feel the crown upon my head, And therefore let me wear it yet a while. Trusty. My lord, the parliament must have present news, And therefore say, will you resign or no? Edw. I'll not resign! but whilst I live, be king! Traitors, be gone, and join with Mortimer. Elect, conspire, install, do what you will: Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries. Bish. This answer we'll return, and so farewell. Leic. Call them again, my lord, and speak them fair; For if they go, the prince shall lose his right. Edw. Call thou them back, I have no power to speak. Edw. Leister, 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 mew'd me in a prison: For such outragious passions claw my soul, As with the wings of rancour and disdain, Full oft 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? Bish. 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, So shall not England's vines be perished, But Edward's name survive, though Edward dies. Leic. My lord, why waste you thus the time away? They stay your answer, will you yield your crown? Edw. Ah, Leister, weigh how hardly I can brook And jointly both yield up their wished right. Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts, And in this torment, comfort find I none, But that I feel the crown upon my head, And therefore let me wear it yet a while. Trusty. My lord, the parliament must have present news, And therefore say, will you resign or no? Edw. I'll not resign! but whilst I live, be king! Traitors, be gone, and join with Mortimer. Elect, conspire, install, do what you will: Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries. Bish. This answer we'll return, and so farewell. Leic. Call them again, my lord, and speak them fair; For if they go, the prince shall lose his right. Edw. Call thou them back, I have no power to speak. Bish. If he be not, let him choose. Edw. O would I might! but heav'n and earth conspire To make me miserable! here, receive my crown; Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine Shall not be guilty of so foul a crime. And Isabel, whose eyes being turn'd to steel, Yet stay, for rather than I will look on them, And sit for ever inthroniz'd in heav'n! Come, Death, and with thy fingers close my eyes, Bart. My lord. Enter Bartley. Edw. Call me not lord; Away, out of my sight-ah, pardon me, Let not that Mortimer protect my son; Than his imbracements-Bear this to the queen, Commend me to my son, and bid him rule Trusty. And thus, most humbly do we take our leave. Will be my death; and welcome shall it be, To wretched men, death is felicity. Leic. Another post! what news brings he? Edw. Such news as I expect-come, Bartley, come, And tell thy message to my naked breast. Bart. My lord, think not a thought so villanous Can harbour in a man of noble birth. To do your highness service and devoir, And save you from your foes, Bartley would die. Leic. My lord, the counsel of the queen commands That I resign my charge. Edw. And who must keep me now? must you, my lord? Edw. By Mortimer, whose name is written here. This poor revenge hath something eas'd my mind. Bart. Your grace must hence with me to Bartley Edw. Whither you will, all places are alike, And every earth is fit for burial. Leic. Favour him, my lord, as much as lieth in you. And that's the cause that I am now remov'd. Bart. And thinks your grace that Bartley will be cruel? Edw. I know not, but of this am I assur'd, That death ends all, and I can die but once. Lightborn is employed to murder the king. Edw. Who's there? what light is that? wherefore com'st thou ? Light. To comfort you, and bring you joyful news. Edw. Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks. Villain, I know thou com'st to murder me. Light. To murder you, my most gracious lord! Far is it from my heart to do you harm. The queen sent me to see how you were us'd, For she relents at this your misery: And what eyes can refrain from shedding tears, To see a king in this most piteous state? Edw. Weep'st thou already? list a-while to me, This dungeon where they keep me, is the sink, Light. O villains! Edw. And there, in mire and puddle, have I stood They give me bread and water, being a king; |