Edward II Read Online

ARUNDELL.

His majesty,

Hearing that you had taken Gaveston,

Intreateth you by me, yet but he may

See him before he dies, for why he saies,

And sends you word, he knowes that die he shall,

And if you gratifie his grace so farre,

He will be mindfull of the curtesie.

WARWICKE.

How now?

GAVESTON.

Renowmed Edward, how thy name

Revives poore Gaveston.

WARWICKE.

No, it needeth not.

Arundell, we will gratifie the king

In other matters, he must pardon us in this,

Souldiers away with him.

GAVESTON.

Why my Lord of Warwicke,

Will not these delaies beget my hopes?

I know it lords, it is this life you aime at,

Yet graunt king Edward this.

MORTIMER.

Shalt thou appoint

What we shall graunt? Souldiers away with him:

Thus weele gratifie the king,

Weele send his head by thee, let him bestow

His teares on that, for that is all he gets

Of Gaveston, or else his sencelesse trunck.

LANCASTER.

Not so my Lord, least he bestow more cost,

In burying him, then he hath ever earned.

ARUNDELL.

My lords, it is his majesties request,

And in the honor of a king he sweares,

He will but talke with him and send him backe.

WARWICKE.

When, can you tell? Arundell no,

We wot, he that the care of realme remits,

And drives his nobles to these exigents

For Gaveston, will if he seaze him once,

Violate any promise to possesse him.

ARUNDELL.

Then if you will not trust his grace in keepe,

My lords, I will be pledge for his returne.

MORTIMER.

It is honourable in thee to offer this,

But for we know thou art a noble gentleman,

We will not wrong thee so,

To make away a true man for a theefe.

GAVESTON.

How meanst thou Mortimer? that is over base.

MORTIMER.

Away base groome, robber of kings renowme,

Question with thy companions and thy mates.

PENBROOKE.

My lord Mortimer, and you my lords each one,

To gratifie the kings request therein,

Touching the sending of this Gaveston,

Because his majestie so earnestlie

Desires to see the man before his death,

I will upon mine honor undertake

To carrie him, and bring him back againe,

Provided this, that you my lord of Arundell

Will joyne with me.

WARWICKE.

Penbrooke, what wilt thou do?

Cause yet more bloudshed: is it not enough

That we have taken him, but must we now

Leave him on had-I-wist, and let him go?

PENBROOKE.

My lords, I will not over wooe your honors,

But if you dare trust Penbrooke with the prisoner,

Upon mine oath I will returne him back.

ARUNDELL.

My lord of Lancaster, what say you in this?

LANCASTER.

Why I say, let him go on Penbrookes word.

PENBROOKE.

And you lord Mortimer?

MORTIMER.

How say you my lord of Warwick?

WARWICKE.

Nay, do your pleasures, I know how twill proove.

PENBROOKE.

Then give him me.

GAVESTON.

Sweete soveraigne, yet I come

To see thee ere I die.

WARWICKE.

Yet not perhaps,

[Aside.]

If Warwickes wit and policile prevaile.

MORTIMER.

My lord of Penbrooke, we deliver him you,

Returne him on your honor. Sound, away.

Exeunt.

Manent Penbrooke, Arundell, Gaveston, and Penbrookes men, foure souldiers [, one of them James].

PENBROOKE.

My Lord, you shall go with me,

My house is not farre hence, out of the way

A little, but our men shall go along.

We that have prettie wenches to our wives,

Sir, must not come so neare and balke their lips.

ARUNDELL.

Tis verie kindlie spoke my lord of Penbrooke,

Your honor hath an adamant, of power

To drawe a prince.

PENBROOKE.

So my lord. Come hether James,

I do commit this Gaveston to thee,

Be thou this night his keeper, in the morning

We will discharge thee of thy charge, be gon.

GAVESTON.

Unhappie Gaveston, whether goest thou now.

Exit [Gaveston] cum servis Penbrookis.

HORSE BOY.

My lord, weele quicklie be at Cobham.

Exeunt ambo [Penbrooke and Arundell, attended].

[II.vi]

Enter Gaveston moorning, and the earle of Penbrookes men [, James and three souldiers].

GAVESTON.

O treacherous Warwicke thus to wrong thy friend!

JAMES.

I see it is your life these armes pursue.

GAVESTON.

Weaponles must I fall and die in bands,

O must this day be period of my life,

Center of all my blisse! And yee be men,

Speede to the king.

Enter Warwicke and his companie.

WARWICKE.

My lord of Penbrookes men,

Strive you no longer, I will have that Gaveston.

JAMES.

Your lordship doth dishonor to your selfe,

And wrong our lord, your honorable friend.

WARWICKE.

No James, it is my countries cause I follow.

Goe, take the villaine, soldiers come away,

Weel make quick worke, commend me to your maister

My friend, and tell him that I watcht it well.

Come, let thy shadow parley with king Edward.

GAVESTON.

Treacherous earle, shall I not see the king?

WARWICKE.

The king of heaven perhaps, no other king,

Away.

Exeunt Warwicke and his men, with Gaveston.

Manet James cum cæteris.

JAMES.

Come fellowes, it booted not for us to strive,

We will in hast go certifie our Lord.

Exeunt.

[III.i]

Enter king Edward and Spencer, [Baldock,] with Drummes and Fifes.

EDWARD.

I long to heare an answer from the Barons

Touching my friend, my deerest Gaveston.

Ah Spencer, not the riches of my realme

Can ransome him, ah he is markt to die,

I know the malice of the yonger Mortimer,

Warwick I know is roughe, and Lancaster

Inexorable, and I shall never see

My lovely Pierce, my Gaveston againe,

The Barons overbeare me with their pride.

SPENCER.

Were I king Edward, Englands soveraigne,

Sonne to the lovelie Elenor of Spaine,

Great Edward Longshankes issue: would I beare

These braves, this rage, and suffer uncontrowld

These Barons thus to beard me in my land,

In mine owne realme? my lord pardon my speeche,

Did you retaine your fathers magnanimitie,

Did you regard the honor of your name,

You would not suffer thus your majestie

Be counterbuft of your nobilitie.

Strike off their heads, and let them preach on poles,

No doubt, such lessons they will teach the rest,

As by their preachments they will profit much,

And learne obedience to their lawfull king.

EDWARD.

Yea gentle Spencer, we have beene too milde,

Too kinde to them, but now have drawne our sword,

And if they send me not my Gaveston,

Weele steele it on their crest, and powle their tops.

BALDOCK.

This haught resolve becomes your majestie,

Not to be tied to their affection,

As though your highnes were a schoole boy still,

And must be awde and governd like a child.

Enter Hugh Spencer an old man, father to the yong Spencer, with his trunchion, and soldiers.

SPENCER PATER.

Long live my soveraigne the noble Edward,

In peace triumphant, fortunate in warres.

EDWARD.

Welcome old man, comst thou in Edwards aide?

Then tell thy prince, of whence, and what thou art.

SPENCER PATER.

Loe, with a band of bowmen and of pikes,

Browne bils, and targetiers, foure hundred strong,

Sworne to defend king Edwards royall right,

I come in person to your majestie,

Spencer, the father of Hugh Spencer there,

Bound to your highnes everlastinglie,

For favors done in him, unto us all.

EDWARD.

Thy father Spencer?

SPENCER.

True, and it like your grace,

That powres in lieu of all your goodnes showne,

His life, my lord, before your princely feete.

EDWARD.

Welcome ten thousand times, old man againe.

Spencer, this love, this kindnes to thy King,

Argues thy noble minde and disposition:

Spencer, I heere create thee earle of Wilshire,

And daily will enrich thee with our favour,

That as the sun-shine shall reflect ore thee:

Beside, the more to manifest our love,

Because we heare Lord Bruse dooth sell his land,

And that the Mortimers are in hand withall,

Thou shalt have crownes of us, t'out bid the Barons,

And Spencer, spare them not, but lay it on.

Souldiers a largis, and thrice welcome all.

SPENCER.

My lord, here comes the Queene.

Enter the Queene and her sonne, and Levune a Frenchman.

EDWARD.

Madam, what newes?

QUEENE.

Newes of dishonor lord, and discontent,

Our friend Levune, faithfull and full of trust,

Informeth us, by letters and by words,

That lord Valoyes our brother, king of Fraunce,

Because your highnesse hath beene slack in homage,

Hath seazed Normandie into his hands.

These be the letters, this the messenger.

EDWARD.

Welcome Levune, tush Sib, if this be all,

Valoys and I will soone be friends againe.

But to my Gaveston: shall I never see,

Never behold thee now? Madam in this matter

We will employ you and your little sonne,

You shall go parley with the king of Fraunce.

Boye, see you beare you bravelie to the king,

And do your message with a majestie.

PRINCE.

Commit not to my youth things of more waight

Then fits a prince so yong as I to beare,

And feare not lord and father, heavens great beames

On Atlas shoulder, shall not lie more safe,

Then shall your charge committed to my trust.

QUEENE.

A boye, this towardnes makes thy mother feare

Thou art not markt to many daies on earth.

EDWARD.

Madam, we will that you with speed be shipt,

And this our sonne, Levune shall follow you,

With all the hast we can dispatch him hence.

Choose of our lords to beare you companie,

And go in peace, leave us in warres at home.

QUEENE.

Unnatural wars, where subjects brave their king,

God end them once, my lord I take my leave,

To make my preparation for Fraunce.

Enter lord Arundell.

EDWARD.

What lord Arundell, dost thou come alone?

ARUNDELL.

Yea my good lord, for Gaveston is dead.

EDWARD.

Ah traitors, have they put my friend to death?

Tell me Arundell, died he ere thou camst,

Or didst thou see my friend to take his death?

ARUNDELL.

Neither my lord, for as he was surprizd,

Begirt with weapons, and with enemies round,

I did your highnes message to them all,

Demanding him of them, entreating rather,

And said, upon the honour of my name,

That I would undertake to carrie him

Unto your highnes, and to bring him back.

EDWARD.

And tell me, would the rebels denie me that?

SPENCER.

Proud recreants.

EDWARD.

Yea Spencer, traitors all.

ARUNDELL.

I found them at the first inexorable,

The earle of Warwick would not bide the hearing,

Mortimer hardly, Penbrooke and Lancaster

Spake least: and when they flatly had denyed,

Refusing to receive me pledge for him,

The earle of Penbrooke mildlie thus bespake.

My lords, because our soveraigne sends for him,

And promiseth he shall be safe returnd,

I will this undertake, to have him hence,

And see him redelivered to your hands.

EDWARD.

Well, and how fortunes that he came not?

SPENCER.

Some treason, or some villanie was cause.

ARUNDELL.

The earle of Warwick seazde him on his way,

For being delivered unto Penbrookes men,

Their lord rode home, thinking his prisoner safe,

But ere he came, Warwick in ambush laie,

And bare him to his death, and in a trenche

Strake off his head, and marcht unto the campe.

SPENCER.

A bloudie part, flatly against law of armes.

EDWARD.

O shall I speake, or shall I sigh and die!

SPENCER.

My lord, referre your vengeance to the sword,

Upon these Barons, harten up your men,

Let them not unrevengd murther your friends,

Advaunce your standard Edward in the field,

And marche to fire them from their starting holes.

Edward kneeles, and saith.

By earth, the common mother of us all,

By heaven, and all the mooving orbes thereof,

By this right hand, and by my fathers sword,

And all the honors longing to my crowne,

I will have heads, and lives, for him as many,

As I have manors, castels, townes, and towers:

Tretcherous Warwicke, traiterous Mortimer,

If I be Englands king, in lakes of gore

Your headles trunkes, your bodies will I traile,

That you may drinke your fill, and quaffe in bloud,

And staine my roiall standard with the same,

That so my bloudie colours may suggest

Remembrance of revenge immortallie,

On your accursed traiterous progenie,

You villaines that have slaine my Gaveston:

And in this place of honor and of trust, [Rises.]

Spencer, sweet Spencer, I adopt thee heere,

And meerely of our love we do create thee

Earle of Gloster, and lord Chamberlaine,

Despite of times, despite of enemies.

SPENCER.

My lord, here is a messenger from the Barons,

Desires accesse unto your majestie.

EDWARD.

Admit him neere.

Enter the Herald from the Barons, with his coate of

armes.

HERALD.

Long live king Edward, Englands lawful lord.

EDWARD.

So wish not they Iwis that sent thee hither,

Thou comst from Mortimer and his complices,

A ranker route of rebels never was:

Well, say thy message.

HERALD.

The Barons up in armes, by me salute

Your highnes, with long life and happines,

And bid me say as plainer to your grace,

That if without effusion of bloud,

You will this have ease and remedie,

That from your princely you remoove

This Spencer, as a putrifying branche,

That deads the royall vine, whose golden leaves

Empale your princelie head, your diadem,

Whose brightnes such pernitious upstarts dim,

Say they, and lovinglie advise your grace,

To cherish vertue and nobilitie,

And have old servitors in high esteeme,

And shake off smooth dissembling flatterers:

This graunted, they, their honors, and their lives,

Are to your highnesse vowd and consecrate.

SPENCER.

A traitors, will they still display their pride?

EDWARD.

Away, tarrie no answer, but be gon.

Rebels, will they appoint their soveraigne

His sports, his pleasures, and his companie:

Yet ere thou go, see how I do devorce Embrace Spencer.

Spencer from me: now get thee to thy lords,

And tell them I will come to chastise them,

For murthering Gaveston: hie thee, get thee gone,

Edward with fire and sword, followes at thy heeles.

[Exit Herald.]

My lords, perceive you how these rebels swell:

Souldiers, good harts, defend your soveraignes right,

For now, even now, we marche to make them stoope,

Away.

Exeunt.

Alarums, excursions, a great fight, and a retreate.

Enter the King, Spencer the father, Spencer the sonne, and the noblemen of the kings side.

EDWARD.

Why do we sound retreat? upon them lords,

This day I shall powre vengeance with my sword

On those proud rebels that are up in armes,

And do confront and countermaund their king.

SPENCER.

I doubt it not my lord, right will prevaile.

SPENCER PATER.

Tis not amisse my liege for eyther part,

To breathe a while, our men with sweat and dust

All chockt well neare, begin to faint for heate,

And this retire refresheth horse and man.

SPENCER. Heere come the rebels.

Enter the Barons, Mortimer, Lancaster, Warwick, Penbrooke, cum cœteris.

MORTIMER.

Looke Lancaster,

Yonder is Edward among his flatterers.

LANCASTER.

And there let him bee,

Till hee pay deerely for their companie.

WARWICKE.

And shall or Warwicks sword shal smite in vaine.

EDWARD.

What rebels, do you shrinke, and sound retreat?

MORTIMER.

No Edward, no, thy flatterers faint and flie.

LANCASTER.

Th'ad best betimes forsake them and their trains,

For theile betray thee, traitors as they are.

SPENCER.

Traitor on thy face, rebellious Lancaster.

PENBROOKE.

Away base upstart, brav'st thou nobles thus?

SPENCER PATER.

A noble attempt, and honourable deed,

Is it not, trowe ye, to assemble aide,

And levie armes against your lawfull king?

EDWARD.

For which ere long, their heads shall satisfie,

T'appeaze the wrath of their offended king.

MORTIMER.

Then Edward, thou wilt fight it to the last,

And rather bathe thy sword in subjects bloud,

Then banish that pernicious companie?

EDWARD.

I traitors all, rather then thus be bravde,

Make Englands civill townes huge heapes of stones,

And plowes to go about our pallace gates.

WARWICKE.

A desperate and unnaturall resolution,

Alarum to the fight,

Saint George for England, and the Barons right.

EDWARD.

Saint George for England, and king Edwards right.

[Exeunt severally. Alarums.]

Enter Edward, with the Barons [and Kent] captives.

EDWARD.

Now lustie lords, now not by chance of warre,

But justice of the quarrell and the cause,

Vaild is your pride: me thinkes you hang the heads,

But weele advance them traitors, now tis time

To be avengd on you for all your braves,

And for the murther of my deerest friend,

To whome right well you knew our soule was knit,

Good Pierce of Gaveston my sweet favoret,

A rebels, recreants, you made him away.

KENT.

Brother, in regard of thee and of thy land,

Did they remoove that flatterer from thy throne.

EDWARD.

So sir, you have spoke, away, avoid our presence.

[Exit Kent.]

Accursed wretches, wast in regard of us,

When we had sent our messenger to request

He might be spared to come to speake with us,

And Penbrooke undertooke for his returne,

That thou proud Warwicke watcht the prisoner,

Poore Pierce, and headed him against lawe of armes?

For which thy head shall over looke the rest,

As much as thou in rage out wentst the rest.

WARWICKE.

Tyrant, I scorne thy threats and menaces,

Tis but temporall that thou canst inflict.

LANCASTER.

The worst is death, and better die to live,

Then live in infamie under such a king.

EDWARD.

Away with them: my lord of Winchester,

These lustie leaders Warwicke and Lancaster,

I charge you roundly off with both their heads,

Away.

WARWICKE.

Farewell vaine worlde.

LANCASTER.

Sweete Mortimer farewell.

[Barons led off by Spencer pater.]

MORTIMER.

England, unkinde to thy nobilitie,

Grone for this greefe, behold how thou art maimed.

EDWARD.

Go take that haughtie Mortimer to the tower,

There see him safe bestowed, and for the rest,

Do speedie execution on them all,

Be gon.

MORTIMER.

What Mortimer? can ragged stonie walles

Immure thy vertue that aspires to heaven?

No Edward, Englands scourge, it may not be,

Mortimers hope surmounts his fortune farre.

[Exit guarded.]

EDWARD.

Sound drums and trumpets, marche with me my friends,

Edward this day hath crownd him king a new.

Exit [attended].

Manent Spencer filius, Levune and Baldock.

SPENCER.

Levune, the trust that we repose in thee,

Begets the quiet of king Edwards land,

Therefore be gon in hast, and with advice,

Bestowe that treasure on the lords of Fraunce,

That therewith all enchaunted like the guarde,

That suffered Jove to passe in showers of golde

To Danae, all aide may be denied

To Isabell the Queene, that now in France

Makes friends, to crosse the seas with her yong sonne,

And step into his fathers regiment.

LEVUNE.

Thats it these Barons and the subtill Queene,

Long leveld at.

BALDOCK.

Yea, but Levune thou seest,

These Barons lay their heads on blocks together,

What they intend, the hangman frustrates cleane.

LEVUNE.

Have you no doubts my lords, ile clap so close,

Among the lords of France with Englands golde,

That Isabell shall make her plaints in vaine,

And Fraunce shall be obdurat with her teares.

SPENCER.

Then make for Fraunce amaine, Levune away,

Proclaime king Edwards warres and victories.

Exeunt omnes.

[IV.i]

Enter Edmund [earle of Kent].

KENT.

Faire blowes the winde for Fraunce, blowe gentle gale,

Till Edmund be arrivde for Englands good,

Nature, yeeld to my countries cause in this.

A brother, no, a butcher of thy friends,

Proud Edward, doost thou banish me thy presence?

But ile to Fraunce, and cheere the wronged Queene,

And certifie what Edwards loosenes is.

Unnaturall king, to slaughter noble men

And cherish flatterers:

Mortimer I stay thy sweet escape,

Stand gratious gloomie night to his device.

Enter Mortimer disguised.

MORTIMER.

Holla, who walketh there, ist you my lord?

KENT.

Mortimer tis I,

But hath thy potion wrought so happilie?

MORTIMER.

It hath my lord, the warders all a sleepe,

I thanke them, gave me leave to passe in peace:

But hath your grace got shipping unto Fraunce?

KENT. Feare it not.

Exeunt.

[IV.ii]

Enter the Queene and her sonne.

QUEENE.

A boye, our friends do faile us all in Fraunce,

The lords are cruell, and the king unkinde,

What shall we doe?

PRINCE.

Madam, returne to England,

And please my father well, and then a Fig

For all my unckles frienship here in Fraunce.

I warrant you, ile winne his highnes quicklie,

A loves me better than a thousand Spencers.

QUEENE.

A boye, thou art deceivde at least in this,

To thinke that we can yet be tun'd together,

No, no, we jarre too farre. Unkinde Valoys,

Unhappie Isabell, when Fraunce rejects,

Whether, O whether doost thou bend thy steps?

Enter sir John of Henolt.

SIR JOHN.

Madam, what cheere?

QUEENE.

A good sir John of Henolt,

Never so cheereles, nor so farre distrest.

SIR JOHN.

I heare sweete lady of the kings unkindenes,

But droope not madam, noble mindes contemne

Despaire: will your grace with me to Henolt,

And there stay times advantage with your sonne?

How say you my Lord, will you go with your friends,

And shake off all our fortunes equallie?

PRINCE.

So pleaseth the Queene my mother, me it likes.

The king of England, nor the court of Fraunce,

Shall have me from my gratious mothers side,

Till I be strong enough to breake a staffe,

And then have at the proudest Spencers head.

SIR JOHN.

Well said my lord.

QUEENE.

Oh my sweet hart, how do I mone thy wrongs,

Yet triumphe in the hope of thee my joye?

Ah sweete sir John, even to the utmost verge

Of Europe, or the shore of Tanaise,

Will we with thee to Henolt, so we will.

The Marques is a noble Gentleman,

His grace I dare presume will welcome me,

But who are these?

Enter Edmund [earle of Kent] and Mortimer.

KENT.

Madam, long may you live,

Much happier then your friends in England do.

QUEENE.

Lord Edmund and lord Mortimer alive?

Welcome to Fraunce: the newes was heere my lord,

That you were dead, or very neare your death.

MORTIMER.

Lady, the last was truest of the twaine,

But Mortimer reservde for better hap,

Hath shaken off the thraldome of the tower,

And lives t'advance your standard good my lord.

PRINCE.

How meane you, and the king my father lives?

No my lord Mortimer, not I, I trow.

QUEENE.

Not sonne, why not? I would it were no worse,

But gentle lords, friendles we are in Fraunce.

MORTIMER.

Mounsier le Grand, a noble friend of yours,

Tould us at our arrivall all the newes,

How hard the nobles, how unkinde the king

Hath shewed himself: but madam, right makes roome,

Where weapons want, and though a many friends

Are made away, as Warwick, Lancaster,

And others of our partie and faction,

Yet have we friends, assure your grace, in England

Would cast up cappes, and clap their hands for joy,

To see us there appointed for our foes.

KENT.

Would all were well, and Edward well reclaimd,

For Englands honor, peace, and quietnes.

MORTIMER.

But by the sword, my lord, it must be deserv'd.

The king will nere forsake his flatterers.

SIR JOHN.

My Lords of England, sith the ungentle king

Of Fraunce refuseth to give aide of armes,

To this distressed Queene his sister heere,

Go you with her to Henolt: doubt yee nor,

We will finde comfort, money, men, and friends

Ere long, to bid the English king a base.

How say yong Prince, what thinke you of the match?

PRINCE.

I thinke king Edward will out-run us all.

QUEENE.

Nay sonne, not so, and you must not discourage

Your friends that are so forward in your aide.

KENT.

Sir John of Henolt, pardon us I pray,

These comforts that you give our wofull queene,

Binde us in kindenes all at your commaund.

QUEENE.

Yea gentle brother, and the God of heaven,

Prosper your happie motion good sir John.

MORTIMER.

This noble gentleman, forward in armes,

Was borne I see to be our anchor hold.

Sir John of Henolt, be it thy renowne,

That Englands Queene, and nobles in distresse,

Have beene by thee restored and comforted.

SIR JOHN.

Madam along, and you my lord, with me,

That Englands peeres may Henolts welcome see.

[Exeunt.]

[IV.iii]

Enter the King, Arundell, the two Spencers, with others.

EDWARD.

Thus after many threats of wrathfull warre,

Triumpheth Englands Edward with his friends,

And triumph Edward with his friends uncontrould.

My lord of Gloster, do you heare the newes?

SPENCER.

What newes my lord?

EDWARD.

Why man, they say there is great execution

Done through the realme, my lord of Arundell

You have the note, have you not?

ARUNDELL.

From the lieutenant of the tower my lord.

EDWARD.

I pray let us see it, what have we there?

Read it Spencer.

Spencer reads their names.

Why so, they barkt a pace a month agoe,

Now on my life, theile neither barke nor bite.

Now sirs, the newes from Fraunce. Gloster, I trowe

The lords of Fraunce love Englands gold so well,

As Isabella gets no aide from thence.

What now remaines, have you proclaimed, my lord,

Reward for them can bring in Mortimer?

SPENCER.

My lord, we have, and if he be in England,

A will be had ere long I doubt it not.

EDWARD.

If, doost thou say? Spencer, as true as death,

He is in Englands ground, our port-maisters

Are not so careles of their kings commaund.

Enter a Poaste.

How now, what newes with thee, from whence come these?

POST.

Letters my lord, and tidings foorth of Fraunce,

To you my lord of Gloster from Levune.

EDWARD. Reade.

Spencer reades the letter.

My dutie to your honor premised, etc. I have according to instructions in that behalfe, dealt with the king of Fraunce his lords, and effected, that the Queene all discontented and discomforted, is gone, whither if you aske, with sir John of Henolt, brother to the Marquesse, into Flounders: with them are gone lord Edmund, and the lord Mortimer, having in their company divers of your nation, and others, and as constant report goeth, they intend to give king Edward battell in England, sooner then he can looke for them: this is all the newes of import.

Your honors in all service, Levune.

EDWARD.

A villaines, hath that Mortimer escapt?

With him is Edmund gone associate?

And will sir John of Henolt lead the round?

Welcome a Gods name Madam and your sonne,

England shall welcome you, and all your route.

Gallop a pace bright Phœbus through the skie,

And duskie night, in rustie iron carre:

Betweene you both, shorten the time I pray,

That I may see that most desired day,

When we may meet these traitors in the field.

Ah nothing greeves me but my little boye,

Is thus misled to countenance their ils.

Come friends to Bristow, there to make us strong,

And windes as equall be to bring them in,

As you injurious were to beare them foorth.

[Exeunt.]

[IV.iv]

Enter the Queene, her sonne, Edmund [earle of Kent], Mortimer, and sir John.

QUEENE.

Now lords, our loving friends and countrimen,

Welcome to England all with prosperous windes,

Our kindest friends in Belgia have we left,

To cope with friends at home: a heavie case,

When force to force is knit, and sword and gleave

In civill broiles makes kin and country men

Slaughter themselves in others and their sides

With their owne weapons gorde, but whats the helpe?

Misgoverned kings are cause of all this wrack,

And Edward thou art one among them all,

Whose loosnes hath betrayed thy land to spoyle,

And made the channels overflow with blood,

Of thine own people patron shouldst thou be

But thou –

MORTIMER.

Nay madam, if you be a warriar,

Ye must not grow so passionate in speeches:

Lords, sith that we are by sufferance of heaven,

Arrivde and armed in this princes right,

Heere for our countries cause sweare we to him

All homage, fealtie and forwardnes,

And for the open wronges and injuries

Edward hath done to us, his Queene and land,

We come in armes to wrecke it with the sword:

That Englands queene in peace may reposesse

Her dignities and honors, and withall

We may remoove these flatterers from the king,

That havocks Englands wealth and treasurie.

SIR JOHN.

Sound trumpets my lord and forward let us martch,

Edward will thinke we come to flatter him.

KENT.

I would he never had bin flattered more.

[Exeunt.]

[IV.v]

Enter the King, Baldock, and Spencer the sonne, flying about the stage.

SPENCER.

Fly, fly, my Lord, the Queene is over strong,

Her friends doe multiply and yours doe fayle,

Shape we our course to Ireland there to breath.

EDWARD.

What, was I borne to flye and runne away,

And leave the Mortimers conquerers behind?

Give me my horse and lets r'enforce our troupes:

And in this bed of honor die with fame.

BALDOCK.

O no my lord, this princely resolution

Fits not the time, away, we are pursu'd.

[Exeunt.]

[IV.vi]

[Enter] Edmund [earle of Kent] alone with a sword and target.

KENT.

This way he fled, but I am come too late.

Edward, alas my hart relents for thee,

Proud traytor Mortimer why doost thou chase

Thy lawfull king thy soveraigne with thy sword?

Vilde wretch, and why hast thou of all unkinde,

Borne armes against thy brother and thy king?

Raigne showers of vengeance on my cursed head

Thou God, to whom in justice it belongs

To punish this unnaturall revolt:

Edward, this Mortimer aimes at thy life:

O fly him then, but Edmund calme this rage,

Dissemble or thou diest, for Mortimer

And Isabell doe kisse while they conspire,

And yet she beares a face of love forsooth:

Fie on that love that hatcheth death and hate.

Edmund away, Bristow to Longshankes blood

Is false, be not found single for suspect:

Proud Mortimer pries neare into thy walkes.

Enter the Queene, Mortimer, the young Prince and

Sir John of Henolt.

QUEENE.

Succesfull battells gives the God of kings,

To them that fight in right and feare his wrath:

Since then succesfully we have prevayled,

Thankes be heavens great architect and you.

Ere farther we proceede my noble lordes,

We heere create our welbeloved sonne,

Of love and care unto his royall person,

Lord warden of the realme, and sith the fates

Have made his father so infortunate,

Deale you my lords in this, my loving lords,

As to your wisdomes fittest seemes in all.

KENT.

Madam, without offence if I may aske,

How will you deale with Edward in his fall?

PRINCE.

Tell me good unckle, what Edward doe you meane?

KENT.

Nephew, your father, I dare not call him king.

MORTIMER.

My lord of Kent, what needes these questions?

Tis not in her controulment, nor in ours,

But as the realme and parlement shall please,

So shall your brother be disposed of.

I like not this relenting moode in Edmund,

[To Queene.]

Madam, tis good to looke to him betimes.

QUEENE.

My lord, the Maior of Bristow knows our mind.

MORTIMER.

Yea madam, and they scape not easilie,

That fled the feeld.

QUEENE.

Baldock is with the king,

A goodly chauncelor, is he not my lord?

SIR JOHN.

So are the Spencers, the father and the sonne.

KENT.

This, Edward, is the ruine of the realme.

[Aside.]

Enter Rice ap Howell, and the Maior of Bristow, with Spencer the father.

RICE.

God save Queene Isabell, and her princely sonne.

Madam, the Maior and Citizens of Bristow,

In signe of love and dutie to this presence,

Present by me this traitor to the state,

Spencer, the father to that wanton Spencer,

That like the lawles Catiline of Rome,

Reveld in Englands wealth and treasurie.

QUEENE.

We thanke you all.

MORTIMER.

Your loving care in this,

Deserveth princelie favors and rewardes,

But wheres the king and the other Spencer fled?

RICE.

Spencer the sonne, created earle of Gloster,

Is with that smoothe toongd scholler Baldock gone,

And shipt but late for Ireland with the king.

MORTIMER.

Some whirle winde fetche them backe, or sincke them all: –

[Aside.]

They shalbe started thence I doubt it not.

PRINCE.

Shall I not see the king my father yet?

KENT.

Unhappie Edward, chaste from Englands bounds.

[Aside.]

SIR JOHN.

Madam, what resteth, why stand ye in a muse?

QUEENE.

I rue my lords ill fortune, but alas,

Care of my countrie cald me to this warre.

MORTIMER.

Madam, have done with care and sad complaint,

Your king hath wrongd your countrie and himselfe,

And we must seeke to right it as we may,

Meane while, have hence this rebell to the blocke,

Your lordship cannot priviledge your head.

SPENCER PATER.

Rebell is he that fights against his prince,

So fought not they that fought in Edwards right.

MORTIMER.

Take him away, he prates. You Rice ap Howell,

[Spencer led off.]

Shall do good service to her Majestie,

Being of countenance in your countrey here,

To follow these rebellious runnagates.

We in meane while madam, must take advise,

How Baldocke, Spencer, and their complices,

May in their fall be followed to their end.

Exeunt omnes.

[IV.vii]

Enter the Abbot, Monkes, Edward, Spencer, and Baldocke [disguised as monks].

ABBOT.

Have you no doubt my Lorde, have you no feare,

As silent and as carefull will we be,

To keepe your royall person safe with us,

Free from suspect, and fell invasion

Of such as have your majestie in chase,

Your selfe, and those your chosen companie,

As daunger of this stormie time requires.

EDWARD.

Father, thy face should harbor no deceit,

O hadst thou ever beene a king, thy hart

Pierced deeply with sence of my distresse,

Could not but take compassion of my state.

Stately and proud, in riches and in traine,

Whilom I was, powerfull and full of pompe,

But what is he, whome rule and emperie

Have not in life or death made miserable?

Come Spencer, come Baldocke, come sit downe by me,

Make triall now of that philosophie,

That in our famous nurseries of artes

Thou suckedst from Plato, and from Aristotle.

Father, this life contemplative is heaven,

O that I might this life in quiet lead,

But we alas are chaste, and you my friends,

Your lives and my dishonor they pursue,

Yet gentle monkes, for treasure, golde nor fee,

Do you betray us and our companie.

MONK.

Your grace may sit secure, if none but wee

Doe wot of your abode.

SPENCER.

Not one alive, but shrewdly I suspect,

A gloomie fellow in a meade belowe,

A gave a long looke after us my lord,

And all the land I know is up in armes,

Armes that pursue our lives with deadly hate.

BALDOCK.

We were imbarkt for Ireland, wretched we,

With awkward windes, and sore tempests driven

To fall on shoare, and here to pine in feare

Of Mortimer and his confederates.

EDWARD.

Mortimer, who talkes of Mortimer,

Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer

That bloudy man? good father on thy lap

Lay I this head, laden with mickle care,

O might I never open these eyes againe,

Never againe lift up this drooping head,

O never more lift up this dying hart!

SPENCER.

Looke up my lord. Baldock, this drowsines

Betides no good, here even we are betraied.

Enter with Welch hookes, Rice ap Howell, a Mower, and the Earle of Leicester.

MOWER.

Upon my life, those be the men ye seeke.

RICE.

Fellow enough: my lord I pray be short,

A faire commission warrants what we do.

LEISTER.

The Queenes commission, urgd by Mortimer,

[Aside.]

What cannot gallant Mortimer with the Queene?

Alas, see where he sits, and hopes unseene,

T'escape their hands that seeke to reave his life:

Too true it is, quem dies vidit veniens superbum,

Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem.

But Leister leave to growe so passionate,

Spencer and Baldocke, by no other names,

I arrest you of high treason here,

Stand not on titles, but obay th'arrest,

Tis in the name of Isabell the Queene:

My lord, why droope you thus?

EDWARD.

O day! the last of all my blisse on earth,

Center of all misfortune. O my starres!

Why do you lowre unkindly on a king?

Comes Leister then in Isabellas name,

To take my life, my companie from me?

Here man, rip up this panting brest of mine,

And take my heart, in reskew of my friends.

RICE.

Away with them.

SPENCER.

It may become thee yet,

To let us take our farewell of his grace.

ABBOT.

My heart with pittie earnes to see this sight,

A king to beare these words and proud commaunds.

EDWARD.

Spencer,

A sweet Spencer, thus then must we part.

SPENCER.

We must my lord, so will the angry heavens.

EDWARD.

Nay so will hell, and cruell Mortimer,

The gentle heavens have not to do in this.

BALDOCK.

My lord, it is in vaine to greeve or storme,

Here humblie of your grace we take our leaves,

Our lots are cast, I feare me so is thine.

EDWARD.

In heaven wee may, in earth never shall wee meete,

And Leister say, what shall become of us?

LEISTER.

Your majestie must go to Killingworth.

EDWARD.

Must! tis somwhat hard, when kings must go.

LEISTER.

Here is a Litter readie for your grace,

That waites your pleasure, and the day growes old.

RICE.

As good be gon, as stay and be benighted.

EDWARD.

A litter hast thou, lay me in a hearse,

And to the gates of hell convay me hence,

Let Plutos bels ring out my fatall knell,

And hags howle for my death at Charons shore,

For friends hath Edward none, but these, and these,

And these must die under a tyrants sword.

RICE.

My lord, be going, care not for these,

For we shall see them shorter by the heads.

EDWARD.

Well, that shalbe, shalbe: part we must,

Sweete Spencer, gentle Baldocke, part we must.

Hence fained weeds, unfained are my woes,

Feather, farewell: Leister, thou staist for me,

And go I must, life farewell with my friends.

Exeunt Edward and Leicester.

SPENCER.

O is he gone! is noble Edward gone,

Parted from hence, never to see us more!

Rent sphere of heaven, and fier forsake thy orbe,

Earth melt to ayre, gone is my soveraigne,

Gone, gone alas, never to make returne.

BALDOCK.

Spencer, I see our soules are fleeted hence,

We are deprivde the sun-shine of our life,

Make for a new life man, throw up thy eyes,

And hart and hand to heavens immortall throne,

Pay natures debt with cheerefull countenance,

Reduce we all our lessons unto this,

To die sweet Spencer, therefore live wee all,

Spencer, all live to die, and rise to fall.

RICE. Come, come, keepe these preachments till you come to the place appointed. You, and such as you are, have made wise worke in England.

Will your Lordships away?

MOWER.

Your worship I trust will remember me?

RICE.

Remember thee fellow? what else?

Follow me to the towne.

[Exeunt.]

[V.i]

Enter the King, Leicester, with a Bishop [of Winchester] for the crowne [and Trussell].

LEISTER.

Be patient good my lord, cease to lament,

Imagine Killingworth castell were your court

And that you lay for pleasure here a space,

Not of compulsion or necessitie.

EDWARD.

Leister, if gentle words might comfort me,

Thy speeches long agoe had easde my sorrowes,

For kinde and loving hast thou alwaies beene:

The greefes of private men are soone allayde,

But not of kings: the forrest Deare being strucke

Runnes to an herbe that closeth up the wounds,

But when the imperiall Lions flesh is gorde,

He rends and teares it with his wrathfull pawe,

And highly scorning, that the lowly earth

Should drinke his bloud, mounts up into the ayre:

And so it fares with me, whose dauntlesse minde

The ambitious Mortimer would seeke to curbe,

And that unnaturall Queene false Isabell,

That thus hath pent and mu'd me in a prison,

For such outragious passions cloye my soule,

As with the wings of rancor and disdaine,

Full often am I sowring up to heaven,

To plaine me to the gods against them both:

But when I call to minde I am a king,

Me thinkes I should revenge me of the wronges,

That Mortimer and Isabell have done.

But what are kings, when regiment is gone,

But perfect shadowes in a sun-shine day?

My nobles rule, I beare the name of king,

I weare the crowne, but am contrould by them,

By Mortimer, and my unconstant Queene,

Who spots my nuptiall bed with infamie,

Whilst I am lodgd within this cave of care,

Where sorrow at my elbow still attends,

To companie my hart with sad laments,

That bleedes within me for this strange exchange.

But tell me, must I now resigne my crowne,

To make usurping Mortimer a king?

BISHOP.

Your grace mistakes, it is for Englands good,

And princely Edwards right we crave the crowne.

EDWARD.

No, tis for Mortimer, not Edwards head,

For hees a lambe, encompassed by Woolves,

Which in a moment will abridge his life:

But if proud Mortimer do weare this crowne,

Heavens turne it to a blaze of quenchelesse fier,

Or like the snakie wreathe of Tisiphon,

Engirt the temples of his hatefull head,

So shall not Englands Vine be perished,

But Edwards name survives, though Edward dies.

LEISTER.

My lord, why waste you thus the time away,

They stay your answer, will you yeeld your crowne?

EDWARD.

Ah Leister, way how hardly I can brooke

To loose my crowne and kingdome, without cause,

To give ambitious Mortimer my right,

That like a mountaine overwhelmes my blisse,

In which extreame my minde here murthered is:

But what the heavens appoint, I must obaye,

Here, take my crowne, the life of Edward too,

Two kings in England cannot raigne at once:

But stay a while, let me be king till night,

That I may gaze upon this glittering crowne,

So shall my eyes receive their last content,

My head, the latest honor dew to it,

And joyntly both yeeld up their wished right.

Continue ever thou celestiall sunne,

Let never silent night possesse this clime,

Stand still you watches of the element,

All times and seasons rest you at a stay,

That Edward may be still faire Englands king:

But dayes bright beames dooth vanish fast away,

And needes I must resigne my wished crowne.

Inhumaine creatures, nurst with Tigers milke,

Why gape you for your soveraignes overthrow?

My diadem I meane, and guiltlesse life.

See monsters see, ile weare my crowne againe,

What, feare you not the furie of your king?

But haplesse Edward, thou art fondly led,

They passe not for thy frownes as late they did,

But seekes to make a new elected king,

Which fils my mind with strange despairing thoughts,

Which thoughts are martyred with endles torments.

And in this torment, comfort finde I none,

But that I feele the crowne upon my head,

And therefore let me weare it yet a while.

TRUSSELL.

My Lorde, the parlement must have present newes,

And therefore say, will you resigne or no.

The king rageth.

EDWARD.

Ile not resigne, but whilst I live, be king.

Traitors be gon, and joine you with Mortimer,

Elect, conspire, install, do what you will,

Their bloud and yours shall seale these treacheries.

BISHOP.

This answer weele returne, and so farewell.

LEISTER.

Call them againe my lorde, and speake them faire,

For if they goe, the prince shall lose his right.

EDWARD.

Call thou them back, I have no power to speake.

LEISTER.

My lord, the king is willing to resigne.

BISHOP.

If he be not, let him choose.

EDWARD.

O would I might, but heavens and earth conspire

To make me miserable: heere receive my crowne.

Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine

Shall not be guiltie of so foule a crime.

He of you all that most desires my bloud,

And will be called the murtherer of a king,

Take it: what are you moovde, pitie you me?

Then send for unrelenting Mortimer

And Isabell, whose eyes being turnd to steele,

Will sooner sparkle fire then shed a teare:

Yet stay, for rather then I will looke on them,

Heere, heere: now sweete God of heaven,

Make me despise this transitorie pompe,

And sit for aye inthronized in heaven,

Come death, and with thy fingers close my eyes,

Or if I live, let me forget my selfe.

BISHOP.

My lorde –

EDWARD.

Call me not lorde, away, out of my sight:

Ah pardon me, greefe makes me lunatick.

Let not that Mortimer protect my sonne,

More safetie is there in a Tigers jawes,

Then his imbrasements: beare this to the queene,

Wet with my teares, and dried againe with sighes,

If with the sight thereof she be not mooved,

Returne it backe and dip it in my bloud.

Commend me to my sonne, and bid him rule

Better then I, yet how have I transgrest,

Unlesse it be with too much clemencie?

TRUSSELL.

And thus, most humbly do we take our leave.

[Exeunt Bishop of Winchester and Trussell.]

EDWARD.

Farewell, I know the next newes that they bring,

Will be my death, and welcome shall it be,

To wretched men death is felicitie.

[Enter Bartley to Leister with letter.]

LEISTER.

An other poast, what newes bringes he?

EDWARD.

Such newes as I expect, come Bartley, come,

And tell thy message to my naked brest.

BARTLEY.

My lord, thinke not a thought so villanous

Can harbor in a man of noble birth.

To do your highnes service and devoire,

And save you from your foes, Bartley would die.

LEISTER.

My lorde, the counsell of the Queene commaunds,

That I resigne my charge.

EDWARD.

And who must keepe mee now, must you my lorde?

BARTLEY.

I, my most gratious lord, so tis decreed.

EDWARD.

By Mortimer, whose name is written here,

Well may I rent his name, that rends my hart.

This poore revenge hath something easd my minde,

So may his limmes be torne, as is this paper,

Heare me immortall Jove, and graunt it too.

BARTLEY.

Your grace must hence with mee to Bartley straight.

EDWARD.

Whether you will, all places are alike,

And every earth is fit for buriall.

LEISTER.

Favor him my lord, as much as lieth in you.

BARTLEY.

Even so betide my soule as I use him.

EDWARD.

Mine enemie hath pitied my estate,

And thats the cause that I am now remoovde.

BARTLEY.

And thinkes your grace that Bartley will bee cruell?

EDWARD.

I know not, but of this am I assured,

That death ends all, and I can die but once.

Leicester, farewell.

LEISTER.

Not yet my lorde, ile beare you on your waye.

Exeunt omnes.

[V.ii]

Enter Mortimer, and Queene Isabell.

MORTIMER.

Faire Isabell, now have we our desire,

The proud corrupters of the light-brainde king,

Have done their homage to the loftie gallowes,

And he himselfe lies in captivitie.

Be rulde by me, and we will rule the realme,

In any case, take heed of childish feare,

For now we hould an old Wolfe by the eares,

That if he slip will seaze upon us both,

And gripe the sorer being gript himselfe.

Thinke therefore madam that imports us much,

To erect your sonne with all the speed we may,

And that I be protector over him,

For our behoofe will beare the greater sway

When as a kings name shall be under writ.

QUEENE.

Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabell,

Be thou perswaded, that I love thee well,

And therefore so the prince my sonne be safe,

Whome I esteeme as deare as these mine eyes,

Conclude against his father what thou wilt,

And I my selfe will willinglie subscribe.

MORTIMER.

First would I heare newes that hee were deposde,

And then let me alone to handle him.

Enter Messenger [and then Bishop of Winchester with the crown].

Letters from whence?

MESSENGER.

From Killingworth my lorde.

QUEENE.

How fares my lord the king?

MESSENGER.

In health madam, but full of pensivenes.

QUEENE.

Alas poore soule, would I could ease his greefe.

Thankes gentle Winchester: sirra, be gon.

[Exit Messenger.]

BISHOP.

The king hath willingly resignde his crowne.

QUEENE.

O happie newes, send for the prince my sonne.

BISHOP.

Further, or this letter was sealed, Lord Bartley came,

So that he now is gone from Killingworth,

And we have heard that Edmund laid a plot,

To set his brother free, no more but so.

The lord of Bartley is so pitifull,

As Leicester that had charge of him before.

QUEENE.

Then let some other be his guardian.

[Exit Winchester.]

MORTIMER.

Let me alone, here is the privie seale,

Whose there? call hither Gurney and Matrevis.

To dash the heavie headed Edmunds drift,

Bartley shall be dischargd, the king remoovde,

And none but we shall know where he lieth.

QUEENE.

But Mortimer, as long as he survives

What safetie rests for us, or for my sonne?

MORTIMER.

Speake, shall he presently be dispatch'd and die?

QUEENE.

I would hee were, so it were not by my meanes.

Enter Matrevis and Gurney.

MORTIMER.

Inough.

Matrevis, write a letter presently

Unto the Lord of Bartley from our selfe,

That he resigne the king to thee and Gurney,

And when tis done, we will subscribe our name.

MATREVIS.

It shall be done my lord.

MORTIMER.

Gurney.

GURNEY.

My Lorde.

MORTIMER.

As thou intendest to rise by Mortimer,

Who now makes Fortunes wheele turne as he please,

Seeke all the meanes thou canst to make him droope,

And neither give him kinde word, nor good looke.

GURNEY.

I warrant you my lord.

MORTIMER.

And this above the rest, because we heare

That Edmund casts to worke his libertie,

Remoove him still from place to place by night,

Till at the last, he come to Killingworth,

And then from thence to Bartley back againe:

And by the way to make him fret the more,

Speake curstlie to him, and in any case

Let no man comfort him, if he chaunce to weepe,

But amplifie his greefe with bitter words.

MATREVIS.

Feare not my Lord, weele do as you commaund.

MORTIMER.

So now away, post thither wards amaine.

QUEENE.

Whither goes this letter, to my lord the king?

Commend me humblie to his Majestie,

And tell him, that I labour all in vaine,

To ease his greefe, and worke his libertie:

And beare him this, as witnesse of my love.

MATREVIS.