Reading The first part of King Henry the Sixt — William Shakespeare

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Section 317

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Mort.

Kind Keepers of my weake decaying Age,

Let dying Mortimer here rest himselfe.

Euen like a man new haled from the Wrack,

So fare my Limbes with long Imprisonment:

And these gray Locks, the Pursuiuants of death,

Nestor‑like aged, in an Age of Care,

Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.

These Eyes, like Lampes, whose wasting Oyle is spent,

Waxe dimme, as drawing to their Exigent.

Weake Shoulders, ouer‑borne with burthening Griefe,

And pyth‑lesse Armes, like to a withered Vine,

That droupes his sappe‑lesse Branches to the ground.

Yet are these Feet, whose stength‑lesse stay is numme,

(Vnable to support this Lumpe of Clay)

Swift‑winged with desire to get a Graue,

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