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Two kings in England cannot reign at once-
But stay awhile, let me be king till night,
That I may gaze upon this glittering crown;
So shall my eyes receive their last content,
My head the latest honour due to it,
And jointly both yield up their wishèd right.
Continue ever, thou celestial sun;

Let never silent night possess this clime;
Stand still, you watches of the element;
All times and seasons, rest you at a stay,
That Edward may be still fair England's king.
But day's bright beam doth vanish fast away,
And needs I must resign my wishèd crown;
Inhuman creatures! nursed with tiger's milk!
Why gape you for your sovereign's overthrow ?
My diadem I mean, and guiltless life.

See, monsters, see! I'll wear my crown again!
What! fear you not the fury of your king?-
But, hapless Edward, thou art fondly led :
They pass not for thy frowns as late they did,
But seek to make a new-elected king;

Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts,
Which thoughts are martyred with endless torments,
And in this torment comfort find I none,

But that I feel the crown upon my head;

And therefore let me wear it yet awhile.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, the Parliament must have present news;

And therefore say, will you resign or no?

Edw. I'll not resign! but whilst I live be king.

Traitors, begone, and join with Mortimer :

Elect, conspire, install, do what you will;

Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries!
Bish. This answer we'll return, and so farewell.

Lei. Call them again, my lord, and speak them fair; For if they go, the prince shall lose his right.

Edw. Call thou them back, I have no power to speak. Lei. My lord, the king is willing to resign.

Bish. If he be not, let him choose.

Edw. O would I might! but heaven and earth conspire To make me miserable !-Here, receive my crown;

Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine

Shall not be guilty of so foul a crime.

He of you all that most desires my blood,
And will be called the murtherer of a king,
Take it. What, are you moved? pity you me?
Then send for unrelenting Mortimer,
And Isabel, whose eyes, being turned to steel,
Will sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear.

Yet stay, for rather than I will look on them,
Here, here!-Now, sweet God of heaven,
Make me despise this transitory pomp,

And sit forever enthronized in heaven!

Come, Death, and with thy fingers close my eyes,
Or, if I live, let me forget myself.

Berkley Castle.-The King is left alone with LIGHTBORN, a murderer.

Edw. Who's there? what light is that? wherefore com❜st

thou?

Light. To comfort you, and bring you joyful news.
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 used,
For she relents at this your misery;

And what eyes can refrain from shedding tears,
To see a king in this most piteous state?

Edw. Weep'st thou already? list awhile 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 a sink
Wherein the filth of all the castle falls.

Light. O villains!

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 distempered, and my body's numbed,
And whether I have limbs or no, I know not.
Oh, would my blood drop out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tattered robes!
Tell Isabel the queen, I looked not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,

And there unhorsed the Duke of Cleremont.

Light. Oh, speak no more, my lord!—this breaks my heart.

Lie on this bed, and rest yourself awhile.

Edw. These looks of thine can harbour naught but death!

I see my tragedy written in thy brows.

* His keepers.

Yet stay awhile; forbear thy bloody hand,
And let me see the stroke before it comes,

That even then, when I shall lose my life,
My mind may be more steadfast on my God.

Light. What means your highness, to mistrust me thus? Edw. What mean'st thou, to dissemble with me thus? Light. These hands were never stained with innocent blood,

Nor shall they now be tainted with a king's.

Edu. Forgive my thought, for having such a thought.

One jewel have I left-receive thou this.

Still fear I, and I know not what's the cause,

But every joint shakes as I give it thee.

Oh, if thou harbour'st murder in thy heart,

Let the gift change thy mind, and save thy soul.
Know that I am a king; oh, at that name
I feel a hell of grief! Where is my crown?
Gone, gone!—and do I still remain alive?

Light. You're overwatched, my lord;-lie down and

rest.

Edw. But that grief keeps me waking, I should sleep;
For not these ten days have these eyelids closed.
Now as I speak they fall, and yet with fear
Open again. Oh, wherefore sitt'st thou here?

Light. If you mistrust me, I'll be gone, my lord.
Edw. No, no, for if thou mean'st to murder me,

Thou wilt return again; and therefore stay.
Light. He sleeps.

Edw. Oh, let me not die! yet stay, oh stay awhile!
Light. How now, my lord?

Ed. Something still buzzeth in mine ears,

And tells me if I sleep I never wake;

This fear is that which makes me tremble thus.
And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come ?
Light. To rid thee of thy life.-Matrevis, come!
Edw. I am too weak and feeble to resist.-
Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul !

William Shakspeare.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

MERCUTIO'S Description of QUEEN Mab.

Mer. O, then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes

In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watʼry beams:
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film :
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night

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