This way he fled, but I am come too late.
Edward, alas my hart relents for thee,
Proud traytor Mortimer why doost thou chase
Thy lawfull king thy soveraigne with thy sword ?
Vilde wretch, and why hast thou of all unkinde,
Borne armes against thy brother and thy king?
Raigne showers of vengeance on my cursed head
Thou God, to whom in justice it belongs
To punish this unnaturall revolt:
Edward, this Mortimer aimes at thy life:
O fly him then, but
Edmund
calme this rage,
Dissemble or thou diest, for Mortimer
And Isabell doe kisse while they conspire,
And yet she beares a face of love forsooth:
Fie on that love that hatcheth death and hate.
Edmund away,
Bristow
to
Longshankes
blood
Is false, be not found single for suspect:
Proud Mortimer pries neare into thy walkes.
