Y. Mor. Enough.— Matrevis, write a letter presently Unto the Lord of Berkeley from ourself That he resign the king to thee and Gurney; And when 'tis done, we will subscribe our name.50
Mat. It shall be done, my lord.
Y. Mor. Gurney.
Gur. My lord.
Y. Mor. As thou intend'st to rise by Mortimer, Who now makes Fortune's wheel turn as he please, Seek all the means thou canst to make him droop, And neither give him kind word nor good look.
Gur. I warrant you, my lord.
Y. Mor. And this above the rest: because we hear That Edmund casts to work his liberty, Remove him still from place to place by night, Till at the last he come to Killingworth,60 And then from thence to Berkeley back again? And by the way, to make him fret the more, Speak curstly to him; and in any case Let no man comfort him if he chance to weep, But amplify his grief with bitter words.
Mat. Fear not, my lord, we'll do as you command.
Y. Mor. So now away; post thitherwards amain.
Queen. Whither goes this letter? to my lord the king? Commend me humbly to his majesty, And tell him that I labour all in vain70 To ease his grief, and work his liberty; And bear him this as witness of my love. [Gives a ring.