Y. Mor. Fair Isabel, now have we our desire, The proud corrupters of the light-brained king Have done their homage to the lofty gallows, And he himself lies in captivity. Be ruled by me, and we will rule the realm. In any case take heed of childish fear, For now we hold an old wolf [312] by the ears, That, if he slip, will seize upon us both, And gripe the sorer, being grip'd himself. Think therefore, madam, that [it] imports us [313] much10 To erect your son with all the speed we may, And that I be protector over him; For our behoof, 'twill [314] bear the greater sway Whenas a king's name shall be under writ.
Queen. Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabel, Be thou persuaded that I love thee well, And therefore, so the prince my son be safe, Whom I esteem as dear as these mine eyes, Conclude against his father what thou wilt, And I myself will willingly subscribe.20
Y. Mor. First would I hear news he were deposed, And then let me alone to handle him.
Enter Messenger.
Letters! from whence?
Mess. From Killingworth, my lord.
Queen. How fares my lord the king?
Mess. In health, madam, but full of pensiveness.
Queen. Alas, poor soul, would I could ease his grief!
Enter Winchester [315] with the Crown.