ut of my sight!
Ah, pardon me! grief makes me lunatic.
Let not that Mortimer protect my son;
More safety there is in a tiger's jaws
Than his embracements. Bear this to the queen,
Wet with my tears, and dried again with sighs:
[_Gives a handkerchief._
If with the sight thereof she be not mov'd,
Return it back, and dip it in my blood.
Commend me to my son, and bid him rule
Better than I: yet how have I transgress'd,
Unless it be with too much clemency?
_Trus._ And thus, most humbly do we take our leave.
_K. Edw._ Farewell.
[_Exeunt the Bishop of Winchester and Trussel with the
crown._
I know the next news that they bring
Will be my death; and welcome shall it be:
To wretched men death is felicity.
_Leices._ Another post! what news brings he?

_Enter_ BERKELEY, _who gives a paper to_ LEICESTER.

_K. Edw._ Such news as I expect.--Come, Berkeley, come,
And tell thy message to my naked breast.
_Berk._ 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, Berkeley would die.
_Leices._ My lord, the council of the queen command
That I resign my charge.
_K. Edw._ And who must keep me now? Must you, my lord?
_Berk._ Ay, my most gracious lord; so 'tis decreed.
_K. Edw._ [_Taking the paper._] By Mortimer, whose name is written here!
Well may I rent his name that rends my heart. [_Tears it._
This poor revenge hath something eas'd my mind:
So may his limbs be torn as is this paper!
Hear me, immortal Jove, and grant it too!
_Berk._ Your grace must hence with me to Berkeley straight.
_K. Edw._ Whither you will: all places are alike,
And every earth is fit for burial.
_Leices._ Favour him, my lord, as much as lieth in you.
_Berk._ Even so betide my soul as I use him!
_K. Edw._ Mine enemy hath pitied my estate,
And that's the cause that I am now remov'd.
_Berk._ And thinks your grace that Berkeley will be cruel?
_K. Edw._ I know not; but of this am I assur'd,
That death ends all, and I can die but once.--
Leicester, farewell.
_Leices._ Not yet, my lord; I'll bear you on your way. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA _and the younger_ MORTIMER.

_Y. Mor._ Fair Isabel, now have we our desire;
The proud corrupters of the