a dungeon England's king is kept,
Where I am starv'd for want of sustenance;
My daily diet is heart-breaking sobs,
That almost rent the closet of my heart:
Thus lives old Edward not reliev'd by any,
And so must die, though pitied by many.
O, water, gentle friends, to cool my thirst,
And clear my body from foul excrements!
_Mat._ Here's channel-water, as our charge is given:
Sit down, for we'll be barbers to your grace.
_K. Edw._ Traitors, away! what, will you murder me,
Of choke your sovereign with puddle-water?
_Gur._ No, but wash your face, and shave away your beard,
Lest you be known, and so be rescued.
_Mat._ Why strive you thus? your labour is in vain.
_K. Edw._ The wren may strive against the lion's strength,
But all in vain: so vainly do I strive
To seek for mercy at a tyrant's hand.
[_They wash him with puddle-water, and shave his beard
away._
Immortal powers, that know the painful cares
That wait upon my poor distressed soul,
O, level all your looks upon these daring men
That wrong their liege and sovereign, England's king!
O Gaveston, it is for thee that I am wrong'd!
For me both thou and both the Spensers died;
And for your sakes a thousand wrongs I'll take.
The Spensers' ghosts, wherever they remain,
Wish well to mine; then, tush, for them I'll die.
_Mat._ 'Twixt theirs and yours shall be no enmity.
Come, come, away! Now put the torches out:
We'll enter in by darkness to Killingworth.
_Gur._ How now! who comes there?

_Enter_ KENT.

_Mat._ Guard the king sure: it is the Earl of Kent.
_K. Edw._ O gentle brother, help to rescue me!
_Mat._ Keep them asunder; thrust in the king.
_Kent._ Soldiers, let me but talk to him one word.
_Gur._ Lay hands upon the earl for his assault.
_Kent._ Lay down your weapons, traitors! yield the king!
_Mat._ Edmund, yield thou thyself, or thou shalt die.
_Kent._ Base villains, wherefore do you gripe me thus?
_Gur._ Bind him, and so convey him to the court.
_Kent._ Where is the court but here? here is the king
And I will visit him: why stay you me?
_Mat._ The court is where Lord Mortimer remains:
Thither shall your honour go; and so, farewell.
[_Exeunt Matrevis and Gurney with King Edward._
_Kent._ O, miserable is that common-weal,
Where lords keep courts, and kings are lock'd in prison!
_First Sold._