2 Lord. Take your owne time, Sir.
Bar. I have a wiffe, my lords, and wretched children,
Unles it please his Grace to looke upon 'em
And your good honours with your eies of favour.
'Twill be a litle happines in my death
That they partake not with their fathers ruyns.
1 Lord. Let not that troble ye: they shall not find it.
Bar. Commend my last breath to his Excellence;
Tell him the Sun he shot at is now setting,
Setting this night, that he may rise to morrow,
For ever setting. Now let him raigne alone
And with his rayes give life and light to all men.
May he protect with honour, fight with fortune,
And dye with generall love, an old and good Prince.
My last petition, good Cuntrymen, forget me:
Your memories wound deeper then your mallice,
And I forgive ye all.—A litle stay me.—
Honour and world I fling ye thus behind me,
And thus a naked poore man kneele to heaven:
Be gracious to me, heare me, strengthen me.
I come, I come, ô gracious heaven! now, now,
Now, I present—
Exec. Is it well don mine Heeres?
1 Lord. Somewhat too much; you have strooke his fingers, too, But we forgive your haste. Draw in the body; And Captaines, we discharge your Companies.
Vand. Make cleere the Court.—Vaine glory, thou art gon! And thus must all build on Ambition.
2 Lord. Farwell, great hart; full low thy strength now lyes: He that would purge ambition this way dies.
Exeunt.