And that this be the coronation day,
It pleaseth me, and Isabell the Queene.
The Trumpets sound, I must goe take my place.
Enter the young King, Bishop, Champion, Nobles, Queene.
Bish.
Long live King Edward: by the grace of God,
King of England, and Lord of Ireland.
Cham.
If any Christian, Heathen, Turke, or Jew,
Dares but affirme, that Edwards not true King,
And will avouche his saying with the sword,
I am the Champion that will combat him.
Mor.ju.
None comes, sound Trumpets.
King.
Champion, here's to thee.
Qu.
Lord Mortimer, now take him to your charge.
Enter Souldiers with the Earle of Kent prisoner.
Mor.
What Traytor have we there with Blades and Bils?
Sould.
Edmond the Earle of Kent.
King.
What hath he done?
Sould.
A would have taken the King away perforce,
As we were bringing him to Killingworth.
Mor.ju.
Did you attempt his rescue, Edmond speake?
Edm.
Mortimer, I did, he is our King,
And thou compel'st this Prince to weare the Crowne.
Mor.ju.
Strike off his head, he shall have Marshall law.
Edm.
Strike of my head, base Traytor I defie thee.
King.
My Lord, he is my Unkle, and shall live.
Mor.ju.
My Lord, he is your enemy, and shall dye.
Edm.
Stay Villaines.
King.
Sweete Mother, if I cannot pardon him,
Intreate my Lord Protector for his life.
Qu.
Sonne be content, I dare not speake a word.
King.
Nor I, and yet me thinkes I should command,
But seeing I cannot, Ile entreate for him:
My Lord, if you will let my Unkle live,
I will requite it when I come to age.
Mor.ju.
Tis for your Highnesse good, and for the Realmes.
How often shall I bid you beare him hence?
Edm.
Art thou a King, must I dye at thy command?
Mor.
