Is going to her death. The King, I know,
Cannot continue long: Then may I say,
As our Italian heires at fathers deaths,
Quid Iude, Reine ta soll.
The King alone made mee the King:
Me thinkes I feele the royall Diadem
Vpon my head already; ha, ha, ha. |Exit.|
A dumbe shew.
Enter two Mourners, Atlanta with the Axe, Leonida all in white, her haire loose, hung with ribans; supported on eyther side by two Ladies, Aurelia following as chiefe Mourner. Pase softly ouer the stage.
A Song in parts.