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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.
Father, this life contemplative is heaven.
O that I might this life in quiet lead!
But we, alas ! are chas'd; and you, my friends,
Your lives and my dishonour they pursue.
Yet, gentle monks, for treasure, gold nor fee,
Do you betray us and our company.
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
To fall on shcre, and here to pine in fear
Of Mortimer and his confederates.

Edw. Mortimer ! who talks of Mortimer?
Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer?
That bloody man! Good father, on thy lap
Lay I this head, laden with mickle care.
O might I never ope these eyes again!
Never again lift up this drooping head !
O never more lift up this dying heart !



Y. Spen. Look up my lord.-Baldock, this drow

Betides no good; even here we are betray'd.
Enter, with Welch hooks, RICE AP Howel, a

Mower, and the Earl of LEICESTER.
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-

What cannot Mortimer do with the queen!
Alas! see where he sits, and hopes unseen
T'escape their hands that seek to reave his life.
Too true it is, quem dies vidit veniens superbum,
Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem.
But, Leicester, leave to grow so passionate.
Spencer and Baldock, by no other names,
I do arrest you of high treason here.
Stand not on titles, but obey th' arrest,
'Tis in the name of Isabel the queen.
My lord why droop you thus?

Edw. O day the last of all my bliss on earth!
Centre of all misfortune! O my stars!
Why do you low'r unkindly on a king?
Comes Leicester, then, in Isabella's name,

To take my life, my company from me? xHere 'man rip up this panting breast of mine, And take

my heart in rescue of my friends. Rice. Away with them !

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


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

meet: 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.



SCENE I. 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,

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