Mort.
Kind keeper of my weak declining age,
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself!—
Even like a man new haled from the rack,
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,

These eyes, like lamps, whose wasting oil is spent,
These pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine,
That droops his sapless branches to the ground,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

Keep.
Aye, my good lord, we sent unto the temple,
And answer was return'd that he would come.

Mort.
Enough—my soul shall then be satisfied.
His wrongs do equal mine—like me obscured,
Deprived of honour and inheritance,
Even by this upstart house of Bolingbroke!
But Death, kind umpire of man's miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence—
I would his troubles had so fair an ending. Enter Plantagenet.

Keep.
My Lord, your loving nephew now is come.

Mort.
Richard Plantagenet—friend, is he come?

Plant.
Aye, noble uncle; thus ignobly used,
Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.

Mort.
Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck,
And in his bosom spend my latest gasp.
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
Why didst thou say thou wert of late despised?

Plant.
First lean thine aged back against mine arm,
And I will tell thee why. It chanced to-day,
Some words did grow 'twixt me and Somerset,
Amongst which terms he used his lavish tongue,
And did upbraid me with my father's death;
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
Else with the like I had requited him.
Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
In honour of a true Plantagenet,
Declare the cause for which my father died.

Mort.
The same, fair nephew, that imprison'd me,
And hath detain'd me, all my flowering youth,
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine.
For when the young king Richard was removed,
To make way for ambitious Bolingbroke,
I was the next of Edward's royal line.
For me thy father died, striving for me
To quell the proud usurper's happier son.
In him died all the hopes of Mortimer.
And now—my fainting words do warrant death—
Thou art mine heir!—the rest I'd have thee gather—
But yet be wary in thy studious care:
Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And like a mountain, not to be removed,
But by long tedious mining under ground.
—And now is Mortimer removing hence,
As princes from their courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settled place.

Plant.
Oh uncle! would some part of my young years,
Might but redeem the passage of your age.

Mort.
Then shouldst thou wrong me, as that slaughterer doth,
Which giveth many wounds where one would kill.
Mourn not—except thou sorrow for my good:
And so farewell! and fair befall thy hopes;
And prosperous be thy life in peace and war! [Mortimer is borne off by attendants.

Plant.
And peace—no war—befall thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent thy pilgrimage,
And like a hermit, overpast thy days!
Here lies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Choak'd with th' ambition of a meaner race.

Fortune, not reason, rules the state of things;
Reward goes backward, Honour on his head—
As cedars beaten with continual storms,
So great men flourish.—
Man is a torch borne in the wind—a dream
But of a shadow, summ'd with all his substance:
And as great seamen using all their wealth
And skill in Neptune's deep invisible paths,
In tall ships richly built and ribb'd with brass,
To put a girdle round about the world;
When they have done it, (coming near their haven)
Are fain to give a warning piece, and call
A poor stay'd fisherman, that never past
His country's sight, to waft and guide them in;
So, when we wander furthest through the waves
Of glassy glory, and the gulphs of state,
Topp'd with all titles, spreading all our reaches,
As if each private arm would sphere the earth,
We must to Virtue for her guide resort,
Or we shall shipwreck in our safest port.* ^note