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 drowsiness
Betides no good; here even we are betray'd.

_Enter, with Welsh hooks,_ RICE AP HOWEL, _a_ Mower,
_and_ 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 Mortimer:
What cannot gallant Mortimer 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.--
Spenser and Baldock, by no other names,
I 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?
_K. Edw._ O day, the last of all my bliss on earth!
Centre of all misfortune! O my stars,
Why do you lour unkindly on a king?
Comes Leicester, then, in Isabella's name,
To take my life, my company from me?
Here, 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.
_Abbott._ My heart with pity earns to see this sight;
A king to bear these words and proud commands! [_Aside._
_K. Edw._ Spenser, ah, sweet Spenser, thus, then, must we part?
_Y. Spen._ We must, my lord; so will the angry heavens.
_K. Edw._ Nay, so will hell and cruel Mortimer:
The gentle heavens 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.
_K. Edw._ In heaven we may, in earth ne'er shall we meet:--
And, Leicester, say, what shall become of us?
_Leices._ Your majesty must go to Killingworth.
_K. Edw._ Must! it is 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.
_K. Edw._ A litter hast thou? lay me in a hearse,
And t