_P. Edw._ I have learn'd at Oxford, there, this point of schools,-- _Ablata causa, tollitur effectus:_ Lacy--the cause that Margaret cannot love Nor fix her liking on the English prince-- Take him away, and then the effects will fail. Villain, prepare thyself; for I will bathe My poniard in the bosom of an earl. _Lacy._ Rather than live, and miss fair Margaret's love, Prince Edward, stop not at the fatal doom, But stab it home: end both my loves and life. _Mar._ Brave Prince of Wales, honour'd for royal deeds, 'Twere sin to stain fair Venus' courts with blood; Love's conquest ends, my lord, in courtesy: Spare Lacy, gentle Edward; let me die, For so both you and he do cease your loves. _P. Edw._ Lacy shall die as traitor to his lord. _Lacy._ I have deserv'd it, Edward; act it well. _Mar._ What hopes the prince to gain by Lacy's death? _P. Edw._ To end the loves 'twixt him and Margaret. _Mar._ Why, thinks King Henry's son that Margaret's love Hangs in th' uncertain balance of proud time? That death shall make a discord of our thoughts? No, stab the earl, and 'fore the morning sun Shall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east, Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens. _Lacy._ If aught betides to lovely Margaret That wrongs or wrings her honour from content, Europe's rich wealth nor England's monarchy Should not allure Lacy to over-live: Then, Edward, short my life and end her loves. _Mar._ Rid me, and keep a friend worth many loves. _Lacy._ Nay, Edward, keep a love worth many friends. _Mar._ An if thy mind be such as fame hath blaz'd, Then, princely Edward, let us both abide The fatal resolution of thy rage: Banish thou fancy, and embrace revenge, And in one tomb knit both our carcases, Whose hearts were linkèd in one perfect love. _P. Edw._ [_aside._] Edward, art thou that famous Prince of Wales, Who at Damasco beat the Saracens, And brought'st home triumph on thy lance's point? And shall thy plumes be pull'd by Venus down? Is't princely to dissever lover's leagues, To part such friends as glory in their loves? Leave, Ned, and make a virtue of this fault, And further Peg and Lacy in their loves: So in subduing fancy's passion, Conquering thyself, thou gett'st the richest spoil.-- Lacy, rise up. Fair Peggy, here's my hand: The Prince of Wales hath conquer'd all his thoughts, And all his loves he yields unto the earl. Lacy, enjoy the maid of Fressingfield; Make her thy Lincoln Countess at the church, And Ned, as he is true Plantagenet, Will give her to thee frankly for thy wife. _Lacy._ Humbly I take her of my sovereign, As if that Edward gave me England's right, And rich'd me with the Albion diadem.