_ Enough.--Matrevis, write a letter presently
Unto the Lord of Berkeley from ourself,
That he resign the king to thee and Gurney;
And, when 'tis done, we will subscribe our name.
_Mat._ It shall be done, my lord. [_Writes._
_Y. Mor._ Gurney,--
_Gur._ My lord?
_Y. Mor._ As thou intend'st to rise by Mortimer,
Who now makes Fortune's wheel turn as he please,
Seek all the means thou canst to make him droop,
And neither give him kind word nor good look.
_Gur._ I warrant you, my lord.
_Y. Mor._ And this above the rest: because we hear
That Edmund casts to work his liberty,
Remove him still from place to place by night,
Till at the last he come to Killingworth,
And then from thence to Berkeley back again;
And by the way, to make him fret the more,
Speak curstly to him; and in any case
Let no man comfort him, if he chance to weep,
But amplify his grief with bitter words.
_Mat._ Fear not, my lord; we'll do as you command.
_Y. Mor._ So, now away! post thitherwards amain.
_Q. Isab._ Whither goes this letter? to my lord the king?
Commend me humbly to his majesty,
And tell him that I labour all in vain
To ease his grief and work his liberty;
And bear him this as witness of my love. [_Gives ring._
_Mat._ I will, madam. [_Exit with Gurney._
_Y. Mor._ Finely dissembled! do so still, sweet queen.
Here comes the young prince with the Earl of Kent.
_Q. Isab._ Something he whispers in his childish ears.
_Y. Mor._ If he have such access unto the prince,
Our plots and stratagems will soon be dash'd.
_Q. Isab._ Use Edmund friendly, as if all were well.

_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD, _and_ KENT _talking with him._

_Y. Mor._ How fares my honourable Lord of Kent?
_Kent._ In health, sweet Mortimer.--How fares your grace?
_Q. Isab._ Well, if my lord your brother were enlarg'd.
_Kent._ I hear of late he hath depos'd himself.
_Q. Isab._ The more my grief.
_Y. Mor._ And mine.
_Kent._ Ah, they do dissemble! [_Aside._
_Q. Isab._ Sweet son, come hither; I must talk with thee.
_Y. Mor._ You, being his uncle and the next of blood,
Do look to be protector o'er the prince.
_Kent._ Not I, my lord: who should protect the son,
But she that gave him life? I mean the queen.
_P. Edw._ Mother, persuade me not to wear the crown:
Let him be king; I am too young to reign.
_Q. Isab