Vor. Yea, where ye list; but, take me from this sight.
[Vor. is led out.
Aur. How speeds Edmunda?
Wort. Her mind far better fares, yet is she feeble.
Aur. And of your father doth she e’er say aught?
Wort. Yea, truly; but she haply thinks him dead.
Enter Uter.
Uter. Of all, the King hath truly made confession.
To you he justly renders up the crown,
And bade me hail you Albion’s rightful King.