And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
Nestor-like aged in an age of care,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent.
Weak shoulders over-born with burthening grief,
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
That droops his sapless branches to the ground:
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,
(Unable to support this lump of clay)
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave;
As witting, I no other comfort have.
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?

Keep.
Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come;
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber;
And answer was return'd, that he will come.

Mor.
Enough; my soul then shall be satisfy'd.
Poor gentleman, his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
(Before whose glory I was great in arms,)
This loathsom sequestration have I had;
And, ev'n since then, hath Richard been obscur'd,
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance.
But now the arbitrator of despairs,
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence.
I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd,
That so he might recover what was lost! Enter Richard Plantagenet.

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

Mor.
Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?

Plan.
I, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,
Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes.

Mor.
Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck,
And in his bosom spend my latest gasp.
Oh, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks;
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despis'd?

Plan.
First, lean thine aged back against mine arm,
And in that ease I'll tell thee my Disease.
This day, in argument upon a case,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me:
Amongst which terms he us'd 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,
And for alliance sake, declare the cause
My father Earl of Cambridge lost his head.

Mor.
This cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me;
And hath detain'd me all my flow'ring youth
Within a loathsome dungeon there to pine,
Was cursed instrument of his decease.

Plant
Discover more at large what cause that was,
For I am ignorant and cannot guess.

Mor.
I will, if that my fading breath permit;
And death approach not, ere my tale be done.
Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this King,
Depos'd his cousin Richard, Edward's son;
The first-begotten, and the lawful heir
Of Edward King, the third of that descent.
During whose reign the Percies of the north,
Finding his usurpation most unjust,
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne.
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this,
Was, for that young King Richard thus remov'd,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body,
I was the next by birth and parentage:
For by my mother I derived am
From Lyonel Duke of Clarence, the third son
To the Third Edward; whereas Bolingbroke
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but the fourth of that heroick Line.
But mark; as in this haughty great attempt
They laboured to plant the rightful heir;
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the Fifth

After his father Bolingbroke did reign,
Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, (then deriv'd
From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was;)
Again in pity of my hard distress
Levied an army, weening to redeem
And re-instal me in the Diadem:
But as the rest, so fell that noble Earl,
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were supprest.

Plan.
Of which, my lord, your Honour is the last.

Mor.
True; and thou seest, that I no issue have;
And that my fainting words do warrant death:
Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather:
But yet be wary in thy studious care.

Plan.
Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

Mor.
With silence, nephew, be thou politick:
Strong-fixed is the House of Lancaster,
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd.
But now thy uncle is removing hence;
As Princes do their Courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settled place.

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

Mor.
Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaught'rer doth,
Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
Only give order for my funeral
And so farewel; and fair befall thy hopes,(16) ^note

Plan.
And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And, like a hermit, over-past thy days.
Well; I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.
Keepers, convey him hence; and I my self
Will see his burial better than his life.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Choak'd with ambition of the meaner sort.
And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my House,
I doubt not but with honour to redress.
And therefore haste I to the Parliament;
Either to be restored to my blood,
Or make my Ill th' advantage of my Good.(17) ^note

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