hen the murder's done,
See how he must be handled for his labour,--
_Pereat iste!_ Let him have the king;
What else?--Here is the keys, this is the lake:
Do as you are commanded by my lord.
_Light._ I know what I must do. Get you away:
Yet be not far off; I shall need your help:
See that in the next room I have a fire,
And get me a spit, and let it be red-hot.
_Mat._ Very well.
_Gur._ Need you anything besides?
_Light._ What else? a table and a feather-bed.
_Gur._ That's all?
_Light._ Ay, ay: so, when I call you, bring it in.
_Mat._ Fear not thou that.
_Gur._ Here's a light to go into the dungeon.
[_Gives light to Lightborn, and then exit with Matrevis._
_Light._ So, now.
Must I about this gear: ne'er was there any
So finely handled as this king shall be.--
Foh, here's a place indeed with all my heart!
_K. Edw._ Who's there? what light is that? wherefore com'st thou?
_Light._ To comfort you, and bring you joyful news.
_K. Edw._ Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks:
Villain, I know thou com'st to murder me.
_Light._ To murder you, my most gracious lord?
Far is it from my heart to do you harm.
The queen sent me to see how you were us'd,
For she relents at this your misery:
And what eye can refrain from shedding tears,
To see a king in this most piteous state?
_K. Edw._ Weep'st thou already? list a while to me,
And then thy heart, were it as Gurney's is,
Or as Matrevis', hewn from the Caucasus,
Yet will it melt ere I have done my tale.
This dungeon where they keep me is the sink
Wherein the filth of all the castle falls.
_Light._ O villains!
_K. Edw._ And there, in mire and puddle, have I stood
This ten days' space; and, lest that I should sleep,
One plays continually upon a drum;
They give me bread and water, being a king;
So that, for want of sleep and sustenance,
My mind's distemper'd, and my body's numb'd,
And whether I have limbs or no I know not.
O, would my blood dropp'd out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tatter'd robes!
Tell Isabel the queen, I look'd not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhors'd the Duke of Cleremont.
_Light._ O, speak no more, my lord! this breaks my heart.
Lie on this bed, and rest yourself a while.
_K. Edw._ These looks of thine can harbour naught but death;
I see my tragedy written in thy brows.
Yet stay a whi