_Edw._ Father, thy face should harbour no deceit. O! hadst thou ever been a king, thy heart, Pierced deeply with [a] sense of my distress, 10 Could not but take compassion of my state. Stately and proud, in riches and in train, Whilom I was, powerful, and full of pomp: But what is he whom rule and empery Have not in life or death made miserable? Come, Spencer; come, Baldock, come, sit down by me; Make trial now of that[294] philosophy, That in our famous nurseries of arts Thou suck'dst from Plato and from Aristotle. Father, this life contemplative is heaven. 20 O that I might this life in quiet lead! But we, alas! are chased; and you, my friends, Your lives and my dishonour they pursue. Yet, gentle monks, for treasure, gold nor fee, Do you betray us and our company. _Monk._ Your grace may sit secure, if none but we Do wot of your abode. _Y. Spen._ Not one alive, but shrewdly I suspect A gloomy fellow in a mead below. 'A gave a long look after us, my lord, 30 And all the land I know is up in arms, Arms that pursue our lives with deadly hate. _Bald._ We were embarked for Ireland, wretched we! With awkward winds and sore[295] tempests driven To fall on shore, and here to pine in fear Of Mortimer and his confederates. _Edw._ Mortimer! who talks of Mortimer? Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer, That bloody man? Good father, on thy lap Lay I this head, laden with mickle care. 40 O might I never ope[296] these eyes again! Never again lift up this drooping head! O never more lift up this dying heart! _Y. Spen._ Look up, my lord.--Baldock, this drowsiness Betides no good; here even we are betrayed. _Enter, with Welsh hooks_, RICE AP HOWELL, _a_ Mower, _and the_ EARL OF LEICESTER. _Mow._ Upon my life, these be the men ye seek. _Rice._ Fellow, enough.--My lord, I pray be short, A fair commission warrants what we do. _Leices._ The queen's commission, urged by Mortimer; What cannot gallant Mortimer with the queen? 50 Alas! see where he sits, and hopes unseen To escape their hands that seek to reave his life. Too true it is, _Quem_[297] _dies vidit veniens superbum, Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem._ But, Leicester, leave to grow so passionate. Spencer and Baldock, by no other names. I [do] arrest you of high treason here. Stand not on titles, but obey th' arrest; 'Tis in the name of Isabel the queen. My lord, why droop you thus? 60