Wherein the filth of all the Castle falles.
Light.
O Villaines!
Edw.
And there in mire and puddle have I stood,
This ten dayes space, and lest that I should sleepe,
One playes continually upon a Drum,
They give me bread and water being a King,
So that for want of sleepe and sustenance,
My mind's distempered, and my bodie's num'd,
And whether I have limbs or no I know not.
O would my bloud dropt out from every veine.
As doth this water from my tottered robes.
Tell Isabell the Queene, I look't not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhorst the Duke of Cleremont.
Light.
O speake no more my Lord, this breakes my heart.
Lye on this bed and rest your selfe a while.
Edw.
These lookes of thine can harbour nought but death,
I see my Tragedy written in thy browes,
Yet stay a while, forbeare thy bloudy hand,
And let me see the stroke before it comes,
That and even then when I shall lose my life,
My mind may be more stedfast on my God.
Light.
What meanes your Highnesse to mistrust mee thus?
Edw.
What meanes thou to dissemble with me thus?
Light.
These hands were never stain'd with innocent bloud,
Nor shall they now be tainted with a Kings.
Edw.
Forgive my thought, for having such a thought,
One Jewell have I left, receive thou this,
Still feare I, and I know not what's the cause,
But every joynt shakes as I give it thee:
O if thou harbourst murther in thy heart,
Let this gift change thy mind, and save thy soule,
Know that I am a King, oh at that name,
I feele a hell of griefe, where is my Crowne:
Gone, gone, and doe I remaine?
Light.
Your over-watcht my Lord, lye downe and rest.
Edw.
But that griefe keepes me waking, I should sleepe.
For not these ten dayes have these eye-lids clos'd,
Now
