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The king must die, or Mortimer goes downe,

The commons now begin to pitie him,

Yet he that is the cause of Edwards death,

Is sure to pay for it when his sonne is of age,

And therefore will I do it cunninglie.

This letter written by a friend of ours,

Containes his death, yet bids them save his life.

Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est.

Feare not to kill the king tis good he die.

But read it thus, and thats an other sence:

Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est.

Kill not the king tis good to feare the worst.

Unpointed as it is, thus shall it goe,

That being dead, if it chaunce to be found,

Matrevis and the rest may beare the blame,

And we be quit that causde it to be done:

Within this roome is lockt the messenger,

That shall conveie it, and performe the rest,

And by a secret token that he beares,

Shall he be murdered when the deed is done.

Lightborn, Come forth.

[Enter Lightborn.]

Art thou as resolute as thou wast ?

What else my lord ? and farre more resolute.

And hast thou cast how to accomplish it?

I, I, and none shall know which way he died.

But at his lookes Lightborne thou wilt relent.

Relent, ha, ha, I use much to relent.

Well, do it bravely, and be secret.

You shall not need to give instructions,

Tis not the first time I have killed a man.

I learnde in Naples how to poison flowers,

To strangle with a lawne thrust through the throte,

To pierce the wind-pipe with a needles point,

Or whilst one is a sleepe, to take a quill

And blowe a little powder in his eares,

Or open his mouth, and powre quick silver downe,

But yet I have a braver way then these.

Whats that?

Nay, you shall pardon me, none shall knowe my trickes.

I care not how it is, so it be not spide:

Deliver this to Gurney and Matrevis,

At every ten miles end thou hast a horse.

Take this, away, and never see me more.

No?

No,

Unlesse thou bring me newes of Edwards death.

That will I quicklie do farewell my lord.

[Exit.]

The prince I rule, the queene do I commaund,

And with a lowly conge to the ground,

The proudest lords salute me as I passe,

I seale, I cancell, I do what I will,

Feard am I more then lov'd, let me be feard,

And when I frowne, make all the court looke pale,

I view the prince with Aristarchus eyes,

Whose lookes were as a breeching to a boye.

They thrust upon me the Protectorship,

And sue to me for that that I desire,

While at the councell table, grave enough,

And not unlike a bashfull puretaine,

First I complaine of imbecilitie,

Saying it is, onus quam gravissimum,

Till being interrupted by my friends,

Suscepi that provinciam as they terme it,

And to conclude, I am Protector now,

Now is all sure, the Queene and Mortimer

Shall rule the realme, the king, and none rule us,

Mine enemies will I plague, my friends advance,

And what I list commaund, who dare controwle?

Major sum quam cui possitfortuna nocere.

And that this be the coronation day,

It pleaseth me, and Isabell the Queene.

The trumpets sound, I must go take my place.

Enter the yong King, [Arch]bishop [of Canterbury ], Champion, Nobles, Queene.

Bishop

Long live king Edward, by the grace of God

King of England, and lorde of Ireland.

Champion

If any Christian, Heathen, Turke, or Jew,

Dares but affirme, that Edwards not true king,

And will avouche his saying with the sworde,

I am the Champion that will combate him!

None comes, sound trumpets.

Champion, heeres to thee.

[Drinks.]

Lord Mortimer, now take him to your charge.

Enter Souldiers with the Earle of Kent prisoner.

What traitor have wee there with blades and billes?

Souldier.

Edmund the Earle of Kent.

What hath he done?

Souldier

A would have taken the king away perforce,

As we were bringing him to Killingworth.

Did you attempt his rescue, Edmund speake?

Kent.

Mortimer, I did, he is our king,

And thou compelst this prince to weare the crowne.

Strike off his head, he shall have marshall lawe.

Strike of my head? base traitor I defie thee.

My lord, he is my unckle, and shall live.

My lord, he is your enemie, and shall die.

Staie villaines.

Sweete mother, if I cannot pardon him,

Intreate my lord Protector for his life.

Sonne, be content, I dare not speake a worde.

Nor I, and yet me thinkes I should commaund,

But seeing I cannot, ile entreate for him:

My lord, if you will let my unckle live,

I will requite it when I come to age.

Tis for your highnesse good, and for the realmes.

How often shall I bid you beare him hence? [To Souldiers.]

Art thou king, must I die at thy commaund?

At our commaund, once more away with him.

Let me but stay and speake, I will not go,

Either my brother or his sonne is king,

And none of both them thirst for Edmunds bloud.

And therefore soldiers whether will you hale me?

They hale Edmund away, and carie him to be beheaded.

What safetie may I looke for at his hands,

If that my Unckle shall be murthered thus?

Feare not sweete boye, ile garde thee from thy foes,

Had Edmund liv'de, he would have sought thy death.

Come sonne, weele ride a hunting in the parke.

And shall my Unckle Edmund ride with us?