Will sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear. Yet stay; for, rather than I'll look on them, Here, here! [_Gives the crown._]--Now, sweet God of heaven, Make me despise this transitory pomp, And sit fot aye enthronised in heaven! Come, death, and with thy fingers close my eyes, Or, if I live, let me forget myself! _Bish. of Win._ My lord,-- _K. Edw._ Call me not lord; away, out of my sight! Ah, pardon me! grief makes me lunatic. Let not that Mortimer protect my son; More safety there is in a tiger's jaws Than his embracements. Bear this to the queen, Wet with my tears, and dried again with sighs: [_Gives a handkerchief._ If with the sight thereof she be not mov'd, Return it back, and dip it in my blood. Commend me to my son, and bid him rule Better than I: yet how have I transgress'd, Unless it be with too much clemency? _Trus._ And thus, most humbly do we take our leave. _K. Edw._ Farewell. [_Exeunt the Bishop of Winchester and Trussel with the crown._ I know the next news that they bring Will be my death; and welcome shall it be: To wretched men death is felicity. _Leices._ Another post! what news brings he? _Enter_ BERKELEY, _who gives a paper to_ LEICESTER. _K. Edw._ Such news as I expect.--Come, Berkeley, come, And tell thy message to my naked breast. _Berk._ My lord, think not a thought so villanous Can harbour in a man of noble birth. To do your highness service and devoir, And save you from your foes, Berkeley would die. _Leices._ My lord, the council of the queen command That I resign my charge. _K. Edw._ And who must keep me now? Must you, my lord? _Berk._ Ay, my most gracious lord; so 'tis decreed. _K. Edw._ [_Taking the paper._] By Mortimer, whose name is written here! Well may I rent his name that rends my heart. [_Tears it._ This poor revenge hath something eas'd my mind: So may his limbs be torn as is this paper! Hear me, immortal Jove, and grant it too! _Berk._ Your grace must hence with me to Berkeley straight. _K. Edw._ Whither you will: all places are alike, And every earth is fit for burial. _Leices._ Favour him, my lord, as much as lieth in you. _Berk._ Even so betide my soul as I use him! _K. Edw._ Mine enemy hath pitied my estate, And that's the cause that I am now remov'd. _Berk._ And thinks your grace that Berkeley will be cruel? _K. Edw._ I know not; but of this am I assur'd, That death ends all, and I can die but once.-- Leicester, farewell. _Leices._ Not yet, my lord; I'll bear you on your way. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA _and the younger_ MORTIMER.