Men. At your bed's feet, confounded in her tears.
King P. She of your grief the heaviest burthen bears;
You can but lose a king, but she a father.
Queen-M. She bear the heaviest burthen! O, say rather
I bear, and am borne down; my sorrowing
Is for a husband's loss, loss of a king.
King P. No more. Alvero, call the princess hither.
Alv. Madam, his majesty doth call for you.
King P. Come hither, Isabella, reach a hand,
Yet now it shall not need: instead of thine,
Death, shoving thee back, clasps his hands in mine,
And bids me come away: I must, I must,
Though kings be gods on earth, they turn to dust.
Is not Prince Philip come from Portugal?
Rod. The prince as yet is not return'd, my lord.
King P. Commend me to him, if I ne'er behold him.
This tells the order of my funeral;
Do it as 'tis set down; embalm my body;
Though worms do make no difference of flesh,
Yet kings are curious here to dig their graves;
Such is man's frailty: when I am embalm'd,
Apparel me in a rich royal robe,
According to the custom of the land;
Then place my bones within that brazen shrine,
Which death hath builded for my ancestors;
I cannot name death, but he straight steps in
And pulls me by the arm.
Fer. His grace doth faint;
Help me, my lords, softly to raise him up.
Enter Eleazar, and stands sadly by.