rest you at a stay,
That Edward may be still fair England's king!
But day's bright beams doth vanish fast away,
And needs I must resign my wished crown.
Inhuman creatures, nurs'd with tiger's milk,
Why gape you for your sovereign's overthrow?
My diadem, I mean, and guiltless life.
See, monsters, see! I'll wear my crown again.
[_Putting on the crown._
What, fear you not the fury of your king?--
But, hapless Edward, thou art fondly led;
They pass not for thy frowns as late they did,
But seek to make a new-elected king;
Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts,
Which thoughts are martyred with endless torments;
And in this torment comfort find I none,
But that I feel the crown upon my head;
And therefore let me wear it yet a while.
_Trus._ My, lord, the parliament must have present news;
And therefore say, will you resign or no?
[_The king rageth._
_K. Edw._ I'll not resign, but, whilst I live, [be king].
Traitors, be gone, and join you with Mortimer.
Elect, conspire, install, do what you will:
Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries.
_Bish. of Win._ This answer we'll return; and so, farewell.
[_Going with Trussel._
_Leices._ Call them again, my lord, and speak them fair;
For, if they go, the prince shall lose his right.
_K. Edw._ Call thou them back; I have no power to speak.
_Leices._ My lord, the king is willing to resign.
_Bish. of Win._ If he be not, let him choose.
_K. Edw._ O, would I might! but heavens and earth conspire
To make me miserable. Here, receive my crown.
Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine
Shall not be guilty of so foul a crime;
He of you all that most desires my blood,
And will be call'd the murderer of a king,
Take it. What, are you mov'd? pity you me?
Then send for unrelenting Mortimer,
And Isabel, whose eyes being turn'd to steel
Will sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear.
Yet stay; for, rather than I'll look on them,
Here, here! [_Gives the crown._]--Now, sweet God of heaven,
Make me despise this transitory pomp,
And sit fot aye enthronised in heaven!
Come, death, and with thy fingers close my eyes,
Or, if I live, let me forget myself!
_Bish. of Win._ My lord,--
_K. Edw._ Call me not lord; away, o