I lay me down a little while to breathe;
For strokes received, and many blows repaid,
Have robb’d my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
5 And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.
Enter EDWARD, running.
Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death!
For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded.
[♦] War. How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?
Enter GEORGE.
[♦] Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair;