Deal you, my lords, in this, my loving lords, KENT. Madam, without offence, if I may ask, KENT. Nephew, your father; I dare not call him king. MOR. My lord of Kent, what needs these ques tions? "Tis not in her controulment, nor in ours, But as the realm and parliament shall please, [Aside to the Queen. I like not this relenting mood in Edmund. Y. MOR. Yea, madam, and they 'scape not easily That fled the field. QUEEN. Baldock is with the king, A goodly chancellor, is he not my lord? SIR J. So are the Spencers, the father, and the son. KENT. This Edward is the ruin of the realm. Enter RICE AP HOWELL, and the MAYOR of BRISTOL, with Old SPENCER. RICE. God save queen Isabel, and her princely son! Madam, the mayor and citizens of Bristol, In sign of love and duty to this presence, Y. MOR. Your loving care in this RICE. Spencer the son, created earl of Glou'ster, Is with that smooth-tongu'd scholar Baldock gone, And shipp'd but late for Ireland with the king. Y. MOR. Some whirlwind fetch them back or sink them all! [Aside. They shall be started thence, I doubt it not. PRINCE. Shall I not see the king my father yet? KENT. Unhappy Edward, chas'd from England's bounds. SIR J. Madam, what resteth, why stand ye in a muse? QUEEN. I rue my lord's ill-fortune; but alas! Care of my country call'd me to this war. Y. MOR. Madam, have done with care and sad complaint; Your king hath wrong'd your country and himself, And we must seek to right it as we may. Meanwhile, have hence this rebel to the block. O. SPEN. Rebel is he that fights against the prince; So fought not they that fought in Edward's right. ap Howell, Shall do good service to her majesty, Being of countenance in your country here, We in meanwhile, madam, must take advice, SCENE VI. [Exeunt omnes. Enter the ABBOT, MONKS, EDWARD, SPENCER, and BALDOCK. ABBOT. Have you no doubt, my lord; have you no fear; As silent and as careful we will be, To keep your royal person safe with us, EDW. Father thy face should harbour no deceit. Come Spencer, come Baldock, come sit down by me; Make trial now of thy philosophy, That in our famous nurseries of arts Thou suck'st from Plato and from Aristotle. O that I might this life in quiet lead! But we, alas! are chas'd; and you, my friends, MONK. Your grace may sit secure, if none but we do wot of your abode. Y. SPEN. Not one alive, but shrewdly I suspect A gloomy fellow in a mead below, He gave a long look after us, my lord, And all the land I know is up in arms, Arms that pursue our lives with deadly hate. BALD. We were embark'd for Ireland, wretched With awkward winds and sore tempest driven EDW. Mortimer! who talks of Mortimer? VOL. II. 6 Y. SPEN. Look up my lord.-Baldock, this drow siness Betides no good; even here we are betray'd. Enter, with Welch hooks, RICE AP HOWEL, a Mow. Upon my life, these be the men ye seek. RICE. Fellow, enough. My lord, I pray be short, A fair commission warrants what we do. LEICES. The queen's commission, urg'd by Mor timer. What cannot Mortimer do with the queen! But, Leicester, leave to grow so passionate. My lord why droop you thus ? EDW. O day the last of all my bliss on earth! RICE. Away with them! |