MORTIMER

Lluellen in the amid of all thy braves, How wilt thou use thy brother, thou hast taken, Wilt thou let his master ransom him? Strike up that drum, follow, pursue and chase, Follow, pursue, spare not the proudest he, That havocs England's sacred royalty. Now fits the time to purge our melancholy, and be re enged upon this London Dame. Katherina. At hand Madam. And in one hour may your Ladishippe reconer both if you vouchsafero be advised by your friends, but what makes the Friar here upon his marry bones? Why, will your majesty be all so base, To stoop to his demands in every thing? I go for dearer then I leave behind. Die Mortimor, thy life is almost gone. And Mortimor of all most misetable. A tiuce with honourable conditions taken, Wales happiness, England's glow , and my bane. Oh Mortimor were it for thy sake, A Garland were the happiest stake: That ever this hand unhappy drew. Oh wench how mayest thou hope to speed? Such a sitting who ever saw, And Eagles bird of a Jack daw. Sweet heart heres no more. Friar a ditty come late from the city. To ask some pity of this lass so pretty: Some pity sweet mistress I pray you. No Martimor here that Eternal , That burns and Would S with brands of hight desire Why Martimor, why do est thou not discover, Thy self her knight her liegeman and her lover? Lords of Albana, and my peers in France. Since Balliol is invested in his rights, And wears the Scottish Diadem, Time is to rouse im that the world may wot, Scotland disdains to carry England's yoke. Therefore my fry worser thus put in readiness, Why slack we time to greet the English king? With message to et him know our minds, Lord Versses though thy aith and oh that be taken, To follow Balliols arms for Scotland's right, Yet is thy heart to England's honour knit, Therefore in spite of England and thy self, Bear thou defiance proudly to thy king, Tell him finds heart and hope, To shake oh England's tyranny be time, To rescue Scotland's honour with his sword, Lord Bru see cast about Versses neck, A strangling halter that he mind his would to. How sa est thou Versses wilt thou do this message? I go, but how unwilling heavens does know, Farewell Lluellen with thy loving Nell. Why F er is it so plain in deed, Lluellen art thou flatly so resolved. To ro st it out and roust so near the king: What shall we have a passage kept in wales: For men at arms and knights aduenturou ? By cock Sir Rice I see no reason why, Young Mortimor should make one among: And play him, parton dying here, For love of his beloved Elinor: His Elinor where I wot, The bitter Northern wind upon the plains: The damps that rise from out the quec y plots: Nor influence of contagious air should touch, But she should court yet with the prondest worser mes, Rich in attire and sumptuous in her fare. And take her ease in beds of safest Down, Why Mort may not thy offers move, And win sweet E Lluellens love, Why Pleasant gold and gentle eloquence, Have set the Nymph's the fairest dams, And vaunts of words, delights of wealth and ease, Have made a Nun 10 yield Lluellens, Being set to see the last of desp ate chance, Why should so fair a slarre stand in a vale? And not be seen to sparkle in the sky, It is enough Jove change his glittering robes: To see Mennosyne and the flies Masters have altar gentle Robinhood, You are not so well accompanied I hope: But if a potter come to p ic his partly, Yowl give him stripes or welcome good or worse: Go Mortimor and make their love holidays, The king will take a common scuse of thee, And who hath more men to attend then Mortimor. Such a porter would I choose, When I mean to blind a skule. While Robin walk with little Io , The Friar will lick his marrian. So will the Porter if he can. Bre ke and split mine eyes in . Never let me hear those words again. Oh Friar you grow choleric, well yole Have no man to Court your mislers but your self, On my word isle take you down a bottom hold, Strike, strike. No Traitor no Potter I, but Mortimor the Earl of March, whose coming to these woods, is to deceive thee of thy love, and reserved to save my so ueraignes life. Brave King run thy sword up to the hilts into the blood of the rebel. Away, his sighed to me is Like the sighed of a , villain I go to revenge me on thy trea son, and to make thee pattern to the world, of mon tains treason, fall ood and ingratitude. Bind fast the Traitor and bring him a way, that the law may justly pass upon him and re ceaue the reward of monstruous treasons and villainy, stain to the name and honour of his noble country for you that slew Lluellen and presented us with his head, the King shall reward your fortune and chivalry. Sweet Lady abate not thy looks so heavenly to the earth, God and the King of England hath honour for thee in store, and Mortimors heart at service and at thy come maundement. Well said Friar better once then never, give me thy hand, my cunning shall fail me but we will be fellows yet, and now Robin Hood is gone, it shall cost me hot water but thou shalt be King Edwards man, on lie I enjoin thee this, come not too near the Friar but good Friar be at my hand. Come on, and for those that have made their submission, and given their names in the Kings name, I pronounce their pardons, and so God save K. Edward. But Mortimor this sighed is strange, stay thou in some corner to see what will befall in this battle. Ah Friar who may his fates force eschew, I think Friar you are prettily should, He must needs go that the devil drives Then Friar beware of other men's wives.