A SKETCH of the life and work of Christopher Marlowe will be found prefixed to his play of “Doctor Faustus” in the volume of the Harvard Classics containing Goethe’s “Faust.”

  The precise date of “Edward II” has not been determined, but it is generally and plausibly assigned to 1590—91. The historical basis for the plot Marlowe found in the Chronicles of Fabyan, Stow, and Holinshed, especially the last. In its treatment of the facts of history, this play is a typical example of the class of drama known as the “chronicle history,” which flourished in the last two decades of the sixteenth century, and culminated in Shakespeare’s “Henry IV” and “Henry V.” While the order of events in history determines for the most part the succession of scenes, the author condenses, omits, elaborates, and re-arranges in order to gain dramatic effectiveness, and to bring out the character of Edward and the results of his weakness. Thus the action covers a historical period of some twenty-two years, though no such stretch of time is suggested by the play; the military operations in Ireland and Scotland, and especially the battle of Bannockburn, are antedated in order to connect them with Gaveston, who was, in fact, dead before any of them occurred; and the adherence of Spencer to the king is made to follow immediately, instead of several years, after the death of the earlier favorite.

  Yet, with all this freedom in the handling of details, Marlowe succeeds in giving a substantially true, as well as a powerfully affecting, picture of the character and fate of Edward II. The play is the ripest and most masterly of Marlowe’s productions, showing in the delineation of character, the construction of the plot and the freedom and variety of the verse, a striking advance over his earlier work. Nowhere else does he rival so closely his great successor, Shakespeare.

  KING EDWARD THE SECOND.

  PRINCE EDWARD, his Son, afterwards King Edward the Third.

  EARL OF KENT, Brother to King Edward the Second.

  GAVESTON.

  ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.

  BISHOP OF COVENTRY.

  BISHOP OF WINCHESTER.

  WARWICK.

  LANCASTER.

  PEMBROKE.

  ARUNDEL.

  LEICESTER.

  BERKELEY.

  MORTIMER, the elder.

  MORTIMER, the younger, his Nephew.

  SPENSER, the elder.

  SPENSER, the younger, his Son.

  BALDOCK.

  BEAUMONT.

  TRUSSEL.

  GURNEY.

  MATREVIS.

  LIGHTBORN.

  SIR JOHN OF HAINAULT.

  LEVUNE.

  RICE AP HOWEL.

  Abbot, Monks, Herald, Lords, Poor Men, James, Mower, Champion, Messengers, Soldiers, and Attendants.

  QUEEN ISABELLA, Wife to King Edward the Second.

  Niece to King Edward the Second, daughter to the Duke of Gloucester. Ladies.]

  “The reluctant pangs of abdicating Royalty in Edward furnished hints which Shakespeare scarcely improved in his ‘Richard the Second’; and the death-scene of Marlowe’s King moves pity and terror beyond any scene, ancient or modern, with which I am acquainted.”

  CHARLES LAMB.

  Gaveston. “MY FATHER is deceas’d! Come, Gaveston,

  And share the kingdom with thy dearest friend,”

  Ah! words that make me surfeit with delight!

  What greater bliss can hap to Gaveston

  Than live and be the favourite of a king!

  Sweet prince, I come; these, these thy amorous lines

  Might have enforc’d me to have swum from France,

  And, like Leander, gasp’d upon the sand,

  So thou would’st smile, and take me in thine arms.

  The sight of London to my exil’d eyes

  Is as Elysium to a new-come soul;

  Not that I love the city, or the men,

  But that it harbours him I hold so dear—

  The king, upon whose bosom let me die, 1

  And with the world be still at enmity.

  What need the arctic people love starlight,

  To whom the sun shines both by day and night—

  Farewell base stooping to the lordly peers!

  My knee shall bow to none but to the king.

  As for the multitude, that are but sparks,

  Rak’d up in embers of their poverty;—

  Tanti; 2 I’ll fawn first on the wind

  That glanceth at my lips, and flieth away.

  But how now, what are these—

  Poor Men. Such as desire your worship’s service.

  Gav. What canst thou do—

  1st P. Man. I can ride.

  Gav. But I have no horses.—What art thou—

  2nd P. Man. A traveller.

  Gav. Let me see: thou would’st do well

  To wait at my trencher and tell me lies at dinner time;

  And as I like your discoursing, I’ll have you.—

  And what art thou—

  3rd P. Man. A soldier, that hath serv’d against the Scot.

  Gav. Why, there are hospitals for such as you.

  I have no war, and therefore, sir, begone.

  3rd P. Man. Farewell, and perish by a soldier’s hand,

  That would’st reward them with an hospital.

  Gav. Ay, ay, these words of his move me as much

  As if a goose should play the porcupine,

  And dart her plumes, thinking to pierce my breast.

  But yet it is no pain to speak men fair;

  I’ll flatter these, and make them live in hope.—

  You know that I came lately out of France, [Aside.]

  And yet I have not view’d my lord the king;

  If I speed well, I’ll entertain you all.

  All. We thank your worship.

  Gav. I have some business: leave me to myself.

  All. We will wait here about the court. Exeunt.

  Gav. Do. These are not men for me:

  I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,

  Musicians, that with touching of a string

  May draw the pliant king which way I please.

  Music and poetry is his delight;

  Therefore I’ll have Italian masks by night,

  Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows;

  And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,

  Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad;

  My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,

  Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay. 3

  Sometime a lovely boy in Dian’s shape,

  With hair that gilds the water as it glides,

  Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,

  And in his sportful hands an olive tree,

  To hide those parts which men delight to see,

  Shall bathe him in a spring; and there hard by,

  One like ActAEon peeping through the grove

  Shall by the angry goddess be transform’d,

  And running in the likeness of an hart

  By yelping hounds pull’d down, and seem to die;—

  Such things as these best please his majesty,

  My lord.—Here comes the king, and the nobles

  From the parliament. I’ll stand aside. [Retires.]

  K. Edw. Lancaster!

  Lan. My lord.

  Gav. That Earl of Lancaster do I abhor. [Aside.]

  K. Edw. Will you not grant me this——In spite of them

  I’ll have my will; and these two Mortimers,

  That cross me thus, shall know I am displeas’d. [Aside.]

  E. Mor. If you love us, my lord, hate Gaveston.

  Gav. That villain Mortimer! I’ll be his death. [Aside.]

  Y. Mor. Mine uncle here, this earl, and I myself

  Were sworn to your father at his death,

  That he should ne’er return into the realm;

  And know, my lord, ere I will break my oath,

  This sword of mine, that should offend your foes,

  Shall sleep within the scabbard at thy need,

  And underneath thy banners march who will,

  For Mortimer will hang his armour up.

  Gav. Mort Dieu! [Aside.]

  K. Edw. Well, Mortimer, I’ll make thee rue these words.

  Beseems it thee to contradict thy king—

  Frown’st thou thereat, aspiring Lancaster—

  The sword shall plane the furrows of thy brows,

  And hew these knees that now are grown so stiff.

  I will have Gaveston; and you shall know

  What danger’tis to stand against your king.

  Gav. Well done, Ned! [Aside.]

  Lan. My lord, why do you thus incense your peers,

  That naturally would love and honour you

  But for that base and obscure Gaveston—

  Four earldoms have I, besides Lancaster,—

  Derby, Salisbury, Lincoln, Leicester,—

  These will I sell, to give my soldiers pay,

  Ere Gaveston shall stay within the realm;

  Therefore, if he be come, expel him straight.

  Kent . Barons and earls, your pride hath made me mute;

  But now I’ll speak, and to the proof, I hope.

  I do remember, in my father’s days,

  Lord Percy of the north, being highly mov’d,

  Braved Moubery 4 in presence of the king;

  For which, had not his highness lov’d him well,

  He should have lost his head; but with his look

  The undaunted spirit of Percy was appeas’d,

  And Moubery and he were reconcil’d:

  Yet dare you brave the king unto his face——

  Brother, revenge it, and let these their heads

  Preach upon poles, for trespass of their tongues.

  War. O, our heads!

  K. Edw. Ay, yours; and therefore I would wish you grant—

  War. Bridle thy anger, gentle Mortimer.

  Y. Mor. I cannot, nor I will not; I must speak.—

  Cousin, our hands I hope shall fence our heads,

  And strike off his that makes you threaten us.

  Come, uncle, let us leave the brain-sick king,

  And henceforth parley with our naked swords.

  E. Mor. Wiltshire hath men enough to save our heads.

  War. All Warwickshire will love him for my sake. 5

  Lan. And northward Gaveston hath many friends.—

  Adieu, my lord; and either change your mind,

  Or look to see the throne, where you should sit,

  To float in blood; and at thy wanton head,

  The glozing 6 head of thy base minion thrown. Exeunt [all except KING EDWARD, KENT, GAVESTON and Attendants]

  K. Edw. I cannot brook these haughty menaces.

  Am I a king, and must be overrul’d——

  Brother, display my ensigns in the field;

  I’ll bandy 7 with the barons and the earls,

  And either die or live with Gaveston.

  Gav. I can no longer keep me from my lord. [Comes forward.]

  K. Edw. What, Gaveston! welcome!—Kiss not my hand—

  Embrace me, Gaveston, as I do thee.

  Why should’st thou kneel— Know’st thou not who I am—

  Thy friend, thyself, another Gaveston!

  Not Hylas was more mourn’d of Hercules,

  Than thou hast been of me since thy exile.

  Gav. And since I went from hence, no soul in hell

  Hath felt more torment than poor Gaveston.

  K. Edw. I know it.—Brother, welcome home my friend.

  Now let the treacherous Mortimers conspire,

  And that high-minded Earl of Lancaster:

  I have my wish, in that I joy thy sight;

  And sooner shall the sea o’erwhelm my land,

  Than bear the ship that shall transport thee hence.

  I here create thee Lord High Chamberlain,

  Chief Secretary to the state and me,

  Earl of Cornwall, King and Lord of Man.

  Gav. My lord, these titles far exceed my worth.

  Kent . Brother, the least of these may well suffice

  For one of greater birth than Gaveston.

  K. Edw. Cease, brother, for I cannot brook these words.

  Thy worth, sweet friend, is far above my gifts,

  Therefore, to equal it, receive my heart.

  If for these dignities thou be envied,

  I’ll give thee more; for, but to honour thee,

  Is Edward pleas’d with kingly regiment. 8

  Fear’st 9 thou thy person— Thou shalt have a guard.

  Wantest thou gold— Go to my treasury.

  Wouldst thou be lov’d and fear’d— Receive my seal;

  Save or condemn, and in our name command

  Whatso thy mind affects, or fancy likes.

  Gav. It shall suffice me to enjoy your love,

  Which whiles I have, I think myself as great

  As CAEsar riding in the Roman street,

  With captive kings at his triumphant car.

  K. Edw. Whither goes my lord of Coventry so fast—

  B. of Cov. To celebrate your father’s exequies.

  But is that wicked Gaveston return’d—

  K. Edw. Ay, priest, and lives to be reveng’d on thee,

  That wert the only cause of his exile.

  Gav. ’Tis true; and but for reverence of these robes,

  Thou should’st not plod one foot beyond this place.

  B. of Cov. I did no more than I was bound to do;

  And, Gaveston, unless thou be reclaim’d,

  As then I did incense the parliament,

  So will I now, and thou shalt back to France.

  Gav. Saving your reverence, you must pardon me.

  K. Edw. Throw off his golden mitre, rend his stole,

  And in the channel 10 christen him anew.

  Kent . Ah, brother, lay not violent hands on him!

  For he’ll complain unto the see of Rome.

  Gav. Let him complain unto the see of hell;

  I’ll be reveng’d on him for my exile.

  K. Edw. No, spare his life, but seize upon his goods.

  Be thou lord bishop and receive his rents,

  And make him serve thee as thy chaplain.

  I give him thee—here, use him as thou wilt.

  Gav. He shall to prison, and there die in bolts.

  K. Edw. Ay, to the Tower, the Fleet, or where thou wilt.

  B. of Cov. For this offence, be thou accurst of God!

  K. Edw. Who’s there— Convey this priest to the Tower.

  B. of Cov. True, true. 11

  K. Edw. But in the meantime, Gaveston, away,

  And take possession of his house and goods.

  Come, follow me, and thou shalt have my guard

  To see it done, and bring thee safe again.

  Gav. What should a priest do with so fair a house—

  A prison may best beseem his holiness. [Exeunt.]

  Note 1. Dyce emends to lie. Die may be used in the sense of “swoon.”

  Note 2. So much for them.

  Note 3. A rural dance.

  Note 4. Mowbray, but the Qto. spelling indicates the pronunciation.

  Note 5. This line and the next are ironical.

  Note 6. Flattering.

  Note 7. Contend.

  Note 8. Rule.

  Note 9. Foar’st for.

  Note 10. Gutter.

  Note 11. I.e., You have used the true word ‘Convey’ (= steal).

  War. ’Tis true, the bishop is in the Tower,

  And goods and body given to Gaveston.

  Lan. What! will they tyrannise upon the church—

  Ah, wicked king! accursed Gaveston!

  This ground, which is corrupted with their steps,

  Shall be their timeless 1 sepulchre or mine.

  Y. Mor. Well, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure;

  Unless his breast be sword-proof he shall die.

  E. Mor. How now! why droops the Earl of Lancaster—

  Y. Mor. Wherefore is Guy of Warwick discontent—

  Lan. That villain Gaveston is made an earl.

  E. Mor. An earl!

  War. Ay, and besides Lord Chamberlain of the realm,

  And Secretary too, and Lord of Man.

  E. Mor. We may not, nor we will not suffer this.

  Y. Mor. Why post we not from hence to levy men—

  Lan. “My Lord of Cornwall” now at every word!

  And happy is the man whom he vouchsafes,

  For vailing of his bonnet, 2 one good look.

  Thus, arm in arm, the king and he doth march:

  Nay more, the guard upon his lordship waits;

  And all the court begins to flatter him.

  War. Thus leaning on the shoulder of the king,

  He nods and scorns and smiles at those that pass.

  E. Mor. Doth no man take exceptions at the slave—

  Lan. All stomach 3 him, but none dare speak a word.

  Y. Mor. Ah, that bewrays their baseness, Lancaster!

  Were all the earls and barons of my mind,

  We’ll hale him from the bosom of the king,

  And at the court-gate hang the peasant up,

  Who, swoln with venom of ambitious pride,

  Will be the ruin of the realm and us.

  War. Here comes my lord of Canterbury ’s grace.

  Lan. His countenance bewrays 4 he is displeas’d.

  A. of Cant. First were his sacred garments rent and torn,

  Then laid they violent hands upon him; next

  Himself imprisoned, and his goods asseiz’d:

  This certify the Pope;—away, take horse. [Exit Attendant]

  Lan. My lord, will you take arms against the king—

  A. of Cant. What need I— God himself is up in arms,

  When violence is offered to the church.

  Y. Mor. Then will you join with us, that be his peers,

  To banish or behead that Gaveston—

  A. of Cant. What else, my lords— for it concerns me near;

  The bishopric of Coventry is his.

  Y. Mor. Madam, whither walks your majesty so fast—

  Q. Isab. Unto the forest, gentle Mortimer,

  To live in grief and baleful discontent;

  For now, my lord, the king regards me not,

  But doats upon the love of Gaveston.

  He claps his cheeks, and hangs about his neck,

  Smiles in his face, and whispers in his ears;

  And when I come he frowns, as who should say,

  “Go whither thou wilt, seeing I have Gaveston.”

  E. Mor. Is it not strange that he is thus bewitch’d—

  Y. Mor. Madam, return unto the court again.

  That sly inveigling Frenchman we’ll exile,

  Or lose our lives; and yet, ere that day come,

  The king shall lose his crown; for we have power,

  And courage too, to be reveng’d at full.

  Q. Isab. But yet lift not your swords against the king.

  Lan. No; but we will lift Gaveston from hence.

  War. And war must be the means, or he’ll stay still.

  Q. Isab. Then let him stay; for rather than my lord

  Shall be oppress’d with civil mutinies,

  I will endure a melancholy life,

  And let him frolic with his minion.

  A. of Cant. My lords, to ease all this, but hear me speak:—

  We and the rest, that are his counsellors,

  Will meet, and with a general consent

  Confirm his banishment with our hands and seals.

  Lan. What we confirm the king will frustrate.

  Y. Mor. Then may we lawfully revolt from him.

  War. But say, my lord, where shall this meeting be—

  A. of Cant. At the New Temple.

  Y. Mor. Content.

  A. of Cant. And, in the meantime, I’ll entreat you all

  To cross to Lambeth, and there stay with me.

  Lan. Come then, let’s away.

  Y. Mor. Madam, farewell!

  Q. Isab. Farewell, sweet Mortimer; and, for my sake,

  Forbear to levy arms against the king.

  Y. Mor. Ay, if words will serve; if not, I must. [Exeunt.]

  Note 1. Untimely.

  Note 2. Removing it as a mark of respect.

  Note 3. Feel resentment at.

  Note 4. Shows.

  Gav. Edmund, the mighty Prince of Lancaster,

  That hath more earldoms than an ass can bear,

  And both the Mortimers, two goodly men,

  With Guy of Warwick, that redoubted knight, 4

  Are gone toward Lambeth—there let them remain! Exeunt.

  Lan. Here is the form of Gaveston’s exile:

  May it please your lordship to subscribe your name.

  A. of Cant. Give me the paper. [He subscribes, as do the others after him.]

  Lan. Quick, quick, my lord; I long to write my name.

  War. But I long more to see him banish’d hence.

  Y. Mor. The name of Mortimer shall fright the king,

  Unless he be declin’d from that base peasant.

  K. Edw. What, are you mov’d that Gaveston sits here—

  It is our pleasure; we will have it so.

  Lan. Your grace doth well to place him by your side,

  For nowhere else the new earl is so safe.

  E. Mor. What man of noble birth can brook this sight—

  Quam male conveniunt! 1

  See what a scornful look the peasant casts!

  Pem. Can kingly lions fawn on creeping ants—

  War. Ignoble vassal, that like Phaeton

  Aspir’st unto the guidance of the sun!

  Y. Mor. Their downfall is at hand, their forces down;

  We will not thus be fac’d and over-peer’d.

  K. Edw. Lay hands on that traitor Mortimer!

  E. Mor. Lay hands on that traitor Gaveston!

  Kent . Is this the duty that you owe your king—

  War. We know our duties—let him know his peers.

  K. Edw. Whither will you bear him— Stay, or ye shall die.

  E. Mor. We are no traitors; therefore threaten not.

  Gav. No, threaten not, my lord, but pay them home!

  Were I a king—

  Y. Mor. Thou villain, wherefore talk’st thou of a king,

  That hardly art a gentleman by birth—

  K. Edw. Were he a peasant, being my minion,

  I’ll make the proudest of you stoop to him.

  Lan. My lord, you may not thus disparage us.—

  Away, I say, with hateful Gaveston!

  E. Mor. And with the Earl of Kent that favours him. [Attendants remove KENT and GAVESTON.]

  K. Edw. Nay, then, lay violent hands upon your king.

  Here, Mortimer, sit thou in Edward’s throne;

  Warwick and Lancaster, wear you my crown.

  Was ever king thus over-rul’d as I—

  Lan. Learn then to rule us better, and the realm.

  Y. Mor. What we have done, our heart-blood shall maintain.

  War. Think you that we can brook this upstart pride—

  K. Edw. Anger and wrathful fury stops my speech.

  A. of Cant. Why are you mov’d— Be patient, my lord,

  And see what we your counsellors have done.

  Y. Mor. My lords, now let us all be resolute,

  And either have our wills, or lose our lives.

  K. Edw. Meet you for this, proud overbearing peers—

  Ere my sweet Gaveston shall part from me,

  This isle shall fleet 2 upon the ocean,

  And wander to the unfrequented Inde.

  A. of Cant. You know that I am legate to the Pope.

  On your allegiance to the see of Rome,

  Subscribe, as we have done, to his exile.

  Y. Mor. Curse him, if he refuse; and then may we

  Depose him and elect another king.

  K. Edw. Ay, there it goes! but yet I will not yield.

  Curse me, depose me, do the worst you can.

  Lan. Then linger not, my lord, but do it straight.

  A. of Cant. Remember how the bishop was abus’d!

  Either banish him that was the cause thereof,

  Or I will presently discharge these lords

  Of duty and allegiance due to thee.

  K. Edw. [Aside.] It boots me not to threat; I must speak fair.—

  The legate of the Pope will be obey’d.

  My lord, you shall be Chancellor of the realm;

  Thou, Lancaster, High Admiral of our fleet;

  Young Mortimer and his uncle shall be earls;

  And you, Lord Warwick, President of the North;

  And thou, of Wales. If this content you not,

  Make several kingdoms of this monarchy,

  And share it equally amongst you all,

  So I may have some nook or corner left,

  To frolic with my dearest Gaveston.

  A. of Cant. Nothing shall alter us, we are resolv’d.

  Lan. Come, come, subscribe.

  Y. Mor. Why should you love him whom the world hates so—

  K. Edw. Because he loves me more than all the world.

  Ah, none but rude and savage-minded men

  Would seek the ruin of my Gaveston;

  You that be noble-born should pity him.

  War. You that are princely-born should shake him off.

  For shame subscribe, and let the lown 3 depart.

  E. Mor. Urge him, my lord.

  A. of Cant. Are you content to banish him the realm—

  K. Edw. I see I must, and therefore am content.

  Instead of ink, I’ll write it with my tears. [Subscribes.]

  Y. Mor. The king is love-sick for his minion.

  K. Edw. ’Tis done; and now, accursed hand, fall off!

  Lan. Give it me; I’ll have it publish’d in the streets.

  Y. Mor. I’ll see him presently despatch’d away.

  A. of Cant. Now is my heart at ease.

  War. And so is mine.

  Pem. This will be good news to the common sort.

  E. Mor. Be it or no, he shall not linger here. Exeunt all except KING EDWARD.

  K. Edw. How fast they run to banish him I love!

  They would not stir, were it to do me good.

  Why should a king be subject to a priest—

  Proud Rome! that hatchest such imperial grooms,

  For these thy superstitious taper-lights,

  Wherewith thy antichristian churches blaze,

  I’ll fire thy crazed buildings, and enforce

  The papal towers to kiss the lowly ground!

  With slaughtered priests make Tiber ’s channel swell,

  And banks rais’d higher with their sepulchres!

  As for the peers, that back the clergy thus,

  If I be king, not one of them shall live.

  Gav. My lord, I hear it whispered everywhere,

  That I am banish’d, and must fly the land.

  K. Edw. ’Tis true, sweet Gaveston—O! were it false!

  The legate of the Pope will have it so,

  And thou must hence, or I shall be depos’d.

  But I will reign to be reveng’d of them;

  And therefore, sweet friend, take it patiently.

  Live where thou wilt, I’ll send thee gold enough;

  And long thou shalt not stay, or if thou dost,

  I’ll come to thee; my love shall ne’er decline.

  Gav. Is all my hope turn’d to this hell of grief—

  K. Edw. Rend not my heart with thy too-piercing words:

  Thou from this land, I from myself am banish’d.

  Gav. To go from hence grieves not poor Gaveston;

  But to forsake you, in whose gracious looks

  The blessedness of Gaveston remains,

  For nowhere else seeks he felicity.

  K. Edw. And only this torments my wretched soul

  That, whether I will or no, thou must depart.

  Be governor of Ireland in my stead,

  And there abide till fortune call thee home.

  Here take my picture, and let me wear thine; [They exchange pictures.]

  O, might I keep thee here as I do this,

  Happy were I! but now most miserable!

  Gav. ’Tis something to be pitied of a king.

  K. Edw. Thou shalt not hence—I’ll hide thee, Gaveston.

  Gav. I shall be found, and then ’twill grieve me more.

  K. Edw. Kind words and mutual talk makes our grief greater;

  Therefore, with dumb embracement, let us part.—

  Stay, Gaveston, I cannot leave thee thus.

  Gav. For every look, my lord 4 drops down a tear.

  Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow.

  K. Edw. The time is little that thou hast to stay,

  And, therefore, give me leave to look my fill.

  But come, sweet friend, I’ll bear thee on thy way.

  Gav. The peers will frown.

  K. Edw. I pass 5 not for their anger—Come, let’s go;

  O that we might as well return as go.

  Q. Isab. Whither goes my lord—

  K. Edw. Fawn not on me, French strumpet! Get thee gone!

  Q. Isab. On whom but on my husband should I fawn—

  Gav. On Mortimer! with whom, ungentle queen—

  I say no more. Judge you the rest, my lord.

  Q. Isab. In saying this, thou wrong’st me, Gaveston.

  Is’t not enough that thou corrupt’st my lord,

  And art a bawd to his affections,

  But thou must call mine honour thus in question—

  Gav. I mean not so; your grace must pardon me.

  K. Edw. Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer,

  And by thy means is Gaveston exil’d;

  But I would wish thee reconcile the lords,

  Or thou shalt ne’er be reconcil’d to me.

  Q. Isab. Your highness knows it lies not in my power.

  K. Edw. Away then! touch me not.—Come, Gaveston.

  Q. Isab. Villain! ’tis thou that robb’st me of my lord.

  Gav. Madam, ’tis you that rob me of my lord.

  K. Edw. Speak not unto her; let her droop and pine.

  Q. Isab. Wherein, my lord, have I deserv’d these words—

  Witness the tears that Isabella sheds,

  Witness this heart, that, sighing for thee, breaks,

  How dear my lord is to poor Isabel.

  K. Edw. And witness Heaven how dear thou art to me!

  There weep; for till my Gaveston be repeal’d,

  Assure thyself thou com’st not in my sight. Exeunt EDWARD and GAVESTON.

  Q. Isab. O miserable and distressed queen!

  Would, when I left sweet France and was embark’d,

  That charming Circe, walking on the waves,

  Had chang’d my shape, or at the marriage-day

  The cup of Hymen had been full of poison,

  Or with those arms that twin’d about my neck

  I had been stifled, and not liv’d to see

  The king my lord thus to abandon me!

  Like frantic Juno will I fill the earth

  With ghastly murmur of my sighs and cries;

  For never doated Jove on Ganymede

  So much as he on cursed Gaveston.

  But that will more exasperate his wrath;

  I must entreat him, I must speak him fair,

  And be a means to call home Gaveston.

  And yet he’ll ever doat on Gaveston;

  And so am I for ever miserable.

  Lan. Look where the sister of the King of France

  Sits wringing of her hands, and beats her breast!

  War. The king, I fear, hath ill-entreated her.

  Pem. Hard is the heart that injures such a saint.

  Y. Mor. I know ’tis ’long of Gaveston she weeps.

  E. Mor. Why— He is gone.

  Y. Mor. Madam, how fares your grace—

  Q. Isab. Ah, Mortimer! now breaks the king’s hate forth,

  And he confesseth that he loves me not.

  Y. Mor. Cry quittance, madam, then; and love not him.

  Q. Isab. No, rather will I die a thousand deaths!

  And yet I love in vain;—he’ll ne’er love me.

  Lan. Fear ye not, madam; now his minion’s gone,

  His wanton humour will be quickly left.

  Q. Isab. O never, Lancaster! I am enjoin’d

  To sue upon you all for his repeal;

  This wills my lord, and this must I perform,

  Or else be banish’d from his highness’ presence.

  Lan. For his repeal— Madam, he comes not back,

  Unless the sea cast up his shipwreck’d body.

  War. And to behold so sweet a sight as that,

  There’s none here but would run his horse to death.

  Y. Mor. But, madam, would you have us call him home—

  Q. Isab. Ay, Mortimer, for till he be restor’d,

  The angry king hath banish’d me the court;

  And, therefore, as thou lov’st and tend’rest me,

  Be thou my advocate unto these peers.

  Y. Mor. What! would you have me plead for Gaveston—

  E. Mor. Plead for him he that will, I am resolv’d.

  Lan. And so am I, my lord. Dissuade the queen.

  Q. Isab. O Lancaster! let him dissuade the king,

  For ’tis against my will he should return.

  War. Then speak not for him, let the peasant go.

  Q. Isab. ’Tis for myself I speak, and not for him.

  Pem. No speaking will prevail, and therefore cease.

  Y. Mor. Fair queen, forbear to angle for the fish

  Which, being caught, strikes him that takes it dead;

  I mean that vile torpedo, Gaveston,

  That now, I hope, floats on the Irish seas.

  Q. Isab. Sweet Mortimer, sit down by me awhile,

  And I will tell thee reasons of such weight

  As thou wilt soon subscribe to his repeal.

  Y. Mor. It is impossible; but speak your mind.

  Q. Isab. Then thus, but none shall hear it but ourselves. [Talks to Young MORTIMER apart.]

  Lan. My lords, albeit the queen win Mortimer,

  Will you be resolute, and hold with me—

  E. Mor. Not I, against my nephew.

  Pem. Fear not, the queen’s words cannot alter him.

  War. No— Do but mark how earnestly she pleads!

  Lan. And see how coldly his looks make denial!

  War. She smiles; now for my life his mind is chang’d!

  Lan. I’ll rather lose his friendship, I, than grant.

  Y. Mor. Well, of necessity it must be so.

  My lords, that I abhor base Gaveston,

  I hope your honours make no question,

  And therefore, though I plead for his repeal,

  ’Tis not for his sake, but for our avail;

  Nay for the realm’s behoof, and for the king’s.

  Lan. Fie, Mortimer, dishonour not thyself!

  Can this be true, ’twas good to banish him—

  And is this true, to call him home again—

  Such reasons make white black, and dark night day.

  Y. Mor. My lord of Lancaster, mark the respect. 6

  Lan. In no respect can contraries be true.

  Q. Isab. Yet, good my lord, hear what he can allege.

  War. All that he speaks is nothing; we are resolv’d.

  Y. Mor. Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead—

  Pem. I would he were!

  Y. Mor. Why, then, my lord, give me but leave to speak.

  E. Mor. But, nephew, do not play the sophister.

  Y. Mor. This which I urge is of a burning zeal

  To mend the king, and do our country good.

  Know you not Gaveston hath store of gold,

  Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends

  As he will front the mightest of us all—

  And whereas he shall live and be belov’d,

  ’Tis hard for us to work his overthrow.

  War. Mark you but that, my lord of Lancaster.

  Y. Mor. But were he here, detested as he is,

  How easily might some base slave be suborn’d

  To greet his lordship with a poniard,

  And none so much as blame the murderer,

  But rather praise him for that brave attempt,

  And in the chronicle enrol his name

  For purging of the realm of such a plague!

  Pem. He saith true.

  Lan. Ay, but how chance this was not done before—

  Y. Mor. Because, my lords, it was not thought upon.

  Nay, more, when he shall know it lies in us

  To banish him, and then to call him home,

  ’Twill make him vail 7 the top-flag of his pride,

  And fear to offend the meanest nobleman.

  E. Mor. But how if he do not, nephew—

  Y. Mor. Then may we with some colour rise in arms;

  For howsoever we have borne it out,

  ’Tis treason to be up against the king.

  So we shall have the people of our side,

  Which for his father’s sake lean to the king,

  But cannot brook a night-grown mushroom,

  Such a one as my lord of Cornwall is,

  Should bear us down of the nobility.

  And when the commons and the nobles join,

  ’Tis not the king can buckler Gaveston;

  We’ll pull him from the strongest hold he hath.

  My lords, if to perform this I be slack,

  Think me as base a groom as Gaveston.

  Lan. On that condition, Lancaster will grant.

  War. And so will Pembroke and I.

  E. Mor. And I.

  Y. Mor. In this I count me highly gratified,

  And Mortimer will rest at your command.

  Q. Isab. And when this favour Isabel forgets,

  Then let her live abandon’d and forlorn.—

  But see, in happy time, my lord the king,

  Having brought the Earl of Cornwall on his way,

  Is new return’d. This news will glad him much,

  Yet not so much as me. I love him more

  Than he can Gaveston; would he lov’d me

  But half so much, then were I treble-bless’d.

  K. Edw. He’s gone, and for his absence thus I mourn.

  Did never sorrow go so near my heart

  As doth the want of my sweet Gaveston;

  And could my crown’s revenue bring him back,

  I would freely give it to his enemies,

  And think I gain’d, having bought so dear a friend.

  Q. Isab. Hark! how he harps upon his minion.

  K. Edw. My heart is as an anvil unto sorrow,

  Which beats upon it like the Cyclops’ hammers,

  And with the noise turns up my giddy brain,

  And makes me frantic for my Gaveston.

  Ah! had some bloodless Fury rose from hell,

  And with my kingly sceptre struck me dead,

  When I was forc’d to leave my Gaveston!

  Lan. Diablo! What passions call you these—

  Q. Isab. My gracious lord, I come to bring you news.

  K. Edw. That you have parley’d with your Mortimer!

  Q. Isab. That Gaveston, my lord, shall be repeal’d.

  K. Edw. Repeal’d! The news is too sweet to be true—

  Q. Isab. But will you love me, if you find it so—

  K. Edw. If it be so, what will not Edward do—

  Q. Isab. For Gaveston, but not for Isabel.

  K. Edw. For thee, fair queen, if thou lov’st Gaveston.

  I’ll hang a golden tongue about thy neck,

  Seeing thou hast pleaded with so good success.

  Q. Isab. No other jewels hang about my neck

  Than these, my lord; nor let me have more wealth

  Than I may fetch from this rich treasury.

  O how a kiss revives poor Isabel!

  K. Edw. Once more receive my hand; and let this be

  A second marriage ’twixt thyself and me.

  Q. Isab. And may it prove more happy than the first!

  My gentle lord, bespeak these nobles fair,

  That wait attendance for a gracious look,

  And on their knees salute your majesty.

  K. Edw. Courageous Lancaster, embrace thy king!

  And, as gross vapours perish by the sun,

  Even so let hatred with thy sovereign’s smile.

  Live thou with me as my companion.

  Lan. This salutation overjoys my heart.

  K. Edw. Warwick shall be my chiefest counsellor:

  These silver hairs will more adorn my court

  Than gaudy silks, or rich embroidery.

  Chide me, sweet Warwick, if I go astray.

  War. Slay me, my lord, when I offend your grace.

  K. Edw. In solemn triumphs, and in public shows,

  Pembroke shall bear the sword before the king.

  Pem. And with this sword Pembroke will fight for you.

  K. Edw. But wherefore walks young Mortimer aside—

  Be thou commander of our royal fleet;

  Or, if that lofty office like thee not,

  I make thee here Lord Marshal of the realm.

  Y. Mor. My lord, I’ll marshal so your enemies,

  As England shall be quiet, and you safe.

  K. Edw. And as for you, Lord Mortimer of Chirke,

  Whose great achievements in our foreign war

  Deserves no common place nor mean reward,

  Be you the general of the levied troops,

  That now are ready to assail the Scots.

  E. Mor. In this your grace hath highly honoured me,

  For with my nature war doth best agree.

  Q. Isab. Now is the King of England rich and strong,

  Having the love of his renowned peers.

  K. Edw. Ay, Isabel, ne’er was my heart so light.

  Clerk of the crown, direct our warrant forth

  For Gaveston to Ireland:

  Beaumont, fly

  As fast as Iris or Jove’s Mercury.

  Bea. It shall be done, my gracious lord. [Exit.]

  K. Edw. Lord Mortimer, we leave you to your charge.

  Now let us in, and feast it royally.

  Against our friend the Earl of Cornwall comes,

  We’ll have a general tilt and tournament;

  And then his marriage shall be solemnis’d.

  For wot you not that I have made him sure 8

  Unto our cousin, the Earl of Gloucester’s heir—

  Lan. Such news we hear, my lord.

  K. Edw. That day, if not for him, yet for my sake,

  Who in the triumph will be challenger,

  Spare for no cost; we will requit your love.

  War. In this, or aught, your highness shall command us.

  K. Edw. Thanks, gentle Warwick: come, let’s in and revel. Exeunt all except the MORTIMERS.

  E. Mor. Nephew, I must to Scotland; thou stayest here.

  Leave now t’oppose thyself against the king.

  Thou seest by nature he is mild and calm,

  And, seeing his mind so doats on Gaveston,

  Let him without controlment have his will.

  The mightiest kings have had their minions:

  Great Alexander loved Hephestion;

  The conquering Hercules 9 for Hylas wept;

  And for Patroclus stern Achilles drooped

  And not kings only, but the wisest men:

  The Roman Tully lov’d Octavius;

  Grave Socrates, wild Alcibiades.

  Then let his grace, whose youth is flexible,

  And promiseth as much as we can wish,

  Freely enjoy that vain, light-headed earl;

  For riper years will wean him from such toys.

  Y. Mor. Uncle, his wanton humour grieves not me;

  But this I scorn, that one so basely born

  Should by his sovereign’s favour grow so pert,

  And riot it with the treasure of the realm.

  While soldiers mutiny for want of pay,

  He wears a lord’s revenue on his back,

  And Midas-like, he jets 10 it in the court,

  With base outlandish cullions 11 at his heels,

  Whose proud fantastic liveries make such show

  As if that Proteus, god of shapes, appear’d.

  I have not seen a dapper Jack so brisk;

  He wears a short Italian hooded cloak

  Larded with pearl, and, in his Tuscan cap,

  A jewel of more value than the crown.

  While others walk below, the king and he

  From out a window laugh at such as we,

  And flout our train, and jest at our attire.

  Uncle, ’tis this that makes me impatient.

  E. Mor. But, nephew, now you see the king is chang’d.

  Y. Mor. Then so am I, and live to do him service:

  But whiles I have a sword, a hand, a heart,

  I will not yield to any such upstart.

  You know my mind; come, uncle, let’s away. Exeunt.

  Note 1. How ill they agree!

  Note 2. Float.

  Note 3. Fellow.

  Note 4. Altered to “love” in Dodsley, &c.

  Note 5. Care.

  Note 6. Consideration.

  Note 7. Lower.

  Note 8. Affianced him.

  Note 9. Qq. Hector.

  Note 10. Struts.

  Note 11. Scoundrels.

  Bald. Spencer,

  Seeing that our lord the Earl of Gloucester’s dead,

  Which of the nobles dost thou mean to serve—

  Y. Spen. Not Mortimer, nor any of his side,

  Because the king and he are enemies.

  Baldock, learn this of me, a factious lord

  Shall hardly do himself good, much less us;

  But he that hath the favour of a king,

  May with one word advance us while we live.

  The liberal Earl of Cornwall is the man

  On whose good fortune Spencer’s hopes depends.

  Bald. What, mean you then to be his follower—

  Y. Spen. No, his companion; for he loves me well,

  And would have once preferr’d me to the king.

  Bald. But he is banish’d; there’s small hope of him.

  Y. Spen. Ay, for a while; but, Baldock, mark the end.

  A friend of mine told me in secrecy

  That he’s repeal’d, and sent for back again;

  And even now a post came from the court

  With letters to our lady from the king;

  And as she read she smil’d, which makes me think

  It is about her lover Gaveston.

  Bald. ’Tis like enough; for since he was exil’d

  She neither walks abroad, nor comes in sight.

  But I had thought the match had been broke off,

  And that his banishment had chang’d her mind.

  Y. Spen. Our lady’s first love is not wavering;

  My life for thine, she will have Gaveston.

  Bald. Then hope I by her means to be preferr’d,

  Having read unto her since she was a child.

  Y. Spen. Then, Baldock, you must cast the scholar off,

  And learn to court it like a gentleman.

  ’Tis not a black coat and a little band,

  A velvet-cap’d coat, fac’d before with serge,

  And smelling to a nosegay all the day,

  Or holding of a napkin in your hand,

  Or saying a long grace at a table’s end,

  Or making low legs 1 to a nobleman,

  Or looking downward with your eyelids close,

  And saying, “Truly, an’t 2 may please your honour,”

  Can get you any favour with great men;

  You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute,

  And now and then stab, as occasion serves.

  Bald. Spencer, thou know’st I hate such formal toys,

  And use them but of mere hypocrisy.

  Mine old lord whiles he liv’d was so precise,

  That he would take exceptions at my buttons,

  And being like pin’s heads, blame me for the bigness;

  Which made me curate-like in mine attire,

  Though inwardly licentious enough

  And apt for any kind of villainy.

  I am none of these common pedants, I,

  That cannot speak without propterea quod. 3

  Y. Spen. But one of those that saith quandoquidem, 4

  And hath a special gift to form a verb.

  Bald. Leave off this jesting, here my lady comes.

  Niece. The grief for his exile was not so much

  As is the joy of his returning home.

  This letter came from my sweet Gaveston:—

  What need’st thou, love, thus to excuse thyself—

  I know thou could’st not come and visit me.

  [Reads.] “I will not long be from thee, though I die.”

  This argues the entire love of my lord;

  [Reads.] “When I forsake thee, death seize on my heart:”

  But stay thee here where Gaveston shall sleep.

  [Puts the letter into her bosom.]

  Now to the letter of my lord the king.—

  He wills me to repair unto the court,

  And meet my Gaveston— Why do I stay,

  Seeing that he talks thus of my marriage-day—

  Who’s there— Baldock!

  See that my coach be ready, I must hence.

  Bald. It shall be done, madam.

  Niece. And meet me at the park-pale presently. Exit BALDOCK.

  Spencer, stay you and bear me company,

  For I have joyful news to tell thee of.

  My lord of Cornwall is a-coming over,

  And will be at the court as soon as we.

  Y. Spen. I knew the king would have him home again.

  Niece. If all things sort 5 out as I hope they will,

  Thy service, Spencer, shall be thought upon.

  Y. Spen. I humbly thank your ladyship.

  Niece. Come, lead the way; I long till I am there. Exeunt.

  Note 1. Bows.

  Note 2. If it.

  Note 3. Lat. because.

  Note 4. Lat. since.

  Note 5. Turn.

  K. Edw. The wind is good, I wonder why he stays;

  I fear me he is wrack’d upon the sea.

  Q. Isab. Look, Lancaster, how passionate 1 he is,

  And still his mind runs on his minion!

  Lan. My lord,—

  K. Edw. How now! what news— Is Gaveston arriv’d—

  Y. Mor. Nothing but Gaveston!—What means your grace—

  You have matters of more weight to think upon;

  The King of France sets foot in Normandy.

  K. Edw. A trifle! we’ll expel him when we please.

  But tell me, Mortimer, what’s thy device

  Against the stately triumph we decreed—

  Y. Mor. A homely one, my lord, not worth the telling.

  K. Edw. Pray thee let me know it.

  Y. Mor. But, seeing you are so desirous, thus it is:

  A lofty cedar-tree, fair flourishing,

  On whose top-branches kingly eagles perch,

  And by the bark a canker 2 creeps me up,

  And gets into the highest bough of all:

  The motto, AEque tandem. 3

  K. Edw. And what is yours, my lord of Lancaster—

  Lan. My lord, mine’s more obscure than Mortimer’s.

  Pliny reports there is a flying fish

  Which all the other fishes deadly hate,

  And therefore, being pursued, it takes the air:

  No sooner is it up, but there’s a fowl

  That seizeth it; this fish, my lord, I bear:

  The motto this: Undique mors est. 4

  K. Edw. Proud Mortimer! ungentle Lancaster!

  Is this the love you bear your sovereign—

  Is this the fruit your reconcilement bears—

  Can you in words make show of amity,

  And in your shields display your rancorous minds!

  What call you this but private libelling

  Against the Earl of Cornwall and my brother—

  Q. Isab. Sweet husband, be content, they all love you.

  K. Edw. They love me not that hate my Gaveston.

  I am that cedar, shake me not too much;

  And you the eagles; soar ye ne’er so high,

  I have the jesses 5 that will pull you down;

  And AEque tandem shall that canker cry

  Unto the proudest peer of Britainy.

  Though thou compar’st him to a flying fish,

  And threatenest death whether he rise or fall,

  ’Tis not the hugest monster of the sea,

  Nor foulest harpy that shall swallow him.

  Y. Mor. If in his absence thus he favours him,

  What will he do whenas he shall be present—

  Lan. That shall we see; look where his lordship comes.

  K. Edw. My Gaveston!

  Welcome to Tynemouth! Welcome to thy friend!

  Thy absence made me droop and pine away;

  For, as the lovers of fair Danae,

  When she was lock’d up in a brazen tower,

  Desired her more, and wax’d outrageous,

  So did it fare 6 with me; and now thy sight

  Is sweeter far than was thy parting hence

  Bitter and irksome to my sobbing heart.

  Gav. Sweet lord and king, your speech preventeth 7 mine,

  Yet have I words left to express my joy:

  The shepherd nipt with biting winter’s rage

  Frolics not more to see the painted spring,

  Than I do to behold your majesty.

  K. Edw. Will none of you salute my Gaveston—

  Lan. Salute him— yes. Welcome, Lord Chamberlain!

  Y. Mor. Welcome is the good Earl of Cornwall!

  War. Welcome, Lord Governor of the Isle of Man!

  Pem. Welcome, Master Secretary!

  Kent . Brother, do you hear them—

  K. Edw. Still will these earls and barons use me thus.

  Gav. My lord, I cannot brook these injuries.

  Q. Isab. Aye me, poor soul, when these begin to jar. [Aside.]

  K. Edw. Return it to their throats, I’ll be thy warrant.

  Gav. Base, leaden earls, that glory in your birth,

  Go sit at home and eat your tenants’ beef;

  And come not here to scoff at Gaveston,

  Whose mounting thoughts did never creep so low

  As to bestow a look on such as you.

  Lan. Yet I disdain not to do this for you. [Draws his sword and offers to stab GAVESTON.]

  K. Edw. Treason! treason! where’s the traitor—

  Pem. Here! here!

  K. Edw. Convey hence Gaveston; they’ll murder him.

  Gav. The life of thee shall salve this foul disgrace.

  Y. Mor. Villain! thy life, unless I miss mine aim. [Wounds GAVESTON.]

  Q. Isab. Ah! furious Mortimer, what hast thou done—

  Y. Mor. No more than I would answer, were he slain. [Exit GAVESTON with Attendants.]

  K. Edw. Yes, more than thou canst answer, though he live.

  Dear shall you both abye 8 this riotous deed.

  Out of my presence! Come not near the court.

  Y. Mor. I’ll not be barr’d the court for Gaveston.

  Lan. We’ll hale him by the ears unto the block.

  K. Edw. Look to your own heads; his is sure enough.

  War. Look to your own crown, if you back him thus.

  Kent . Warwick, these words do ill beseem thy years.

  K. Edw. Nay, all of them conspire to cross me thus;

  But if I live, I’ll tread upon their heads

  That think with high looks thus to tread me down.

  Come, Edmund, let’s away and levy men,

  ’Tis war that must abate these barons’ pride. Exeunt KING EDWARD, [QUEEN ISABELLA and KENT.]

  War. Let’s to our castles, for the king is mov’d.

  Y. Mor. Mov’d may he be, and perish in his wrath!

  Lan. Cousin, it is no dealing with him now,

  He means to make us stoop by force of arms;

  And therefore let us jointly here protest,

  To persecute that Gaveston to the death.

  Y. Mor. By heaven, the abject villain shall not live!

  War. I’ll have his blood, or die in seeking it.

  Pem. The like oath Pembroke takes.

  Lan. And so doth Lancaster.

  Now send our heralds to defy the king;

  And make the people swear to put him down.

  Y. Mor. Letters! From whence—

  Mess. From Scotland, my lord. [Giving letters to MORTIMER.]

  Lan. Why, how now, cousin, how fares all our friends—

  Y. Mor. My uncle’s taken prisoner by the Scots.

  Lan. We’ll have him ransom’d, man; be of good cheer.

  Y. Mor. They rate his ransom at five thousand pound.

  Who should defray the money but the king,

  Seeing he is taken prisoner in his wars—

  I’ll to the king.

  Lan. Do, cousin, and I’ll bear thee company.

  War. Meantime, my lord of Pembroke and myself

  Will to Newcastle here, and gather head. 9

  Y. Mor. About it then, and we will follow you.

  Lan. Be resolute and full of secrecy.

  War. I warrant you. [Exit with PEMBROKE.]

  Y. Mor. Cousin, and if he will not ransom him,

  I’ll thunder such a peal into his ears,

  As never subject did unto his king.

  Lan. Content, I’ll bear my part—Holla! who’s there—

  Y. Mor. Ay, marry, such a guard as this doth well.

  Lan. Lead on the way.

  Guard. Whither will your lordships—

  Y. Mor. Whither else but to the king.

  Guard. His highness is dispos’d to be alone.

  Lan. Why, so he may, but we will speak to him.

  Guard. You may not in, my lord.

  Y. Mor. May we not—

  K. Edu. How now!

  What noise is this— Who have we there— Is’t you— [Going.]

  Y. Mor. Nay, stay, my lord, I come to bring you news;

  Mine uncle’s taken prisoner by the Scots.

  K. Edw. Then ransom him.

  Lan. ’Twas in your wars; you should ransom him.

  Y. Mor. And you shall ransom him, or else——s

  Kent . What! Mortimer, you will not threaten him—

  K. Edw. Quiet yourself, you shall have the broad seal,

  To gather for him throughout the realm.

  Lan. Your minion Gaveston hath taught you this.

  Y. Mor. My lord, the family of the Mortimers

  Are not so poor, but, would they sell their land,

  ’Twould levy men enough to anger you.

  We never beg, but use such prayers as these.

  K. Edw. Shall I still be haunted thus—

  Y. Mor. Nay, now you’re here alone, I’ll speak my mind.

  Lan. And so will I, and then, my lord, farewell.

  Y. Mor. The idle triumphs, masks, lascivious shows,

  And prodigal gifts bestow’d on Gaveston,

  Have drawn thy treasury dry, and made thee weak;

  The murmuring commons, overstretched, break.

  Lan. Look for rebellion, look to be depos’d.

  Thy garrisons are beaten out of France,

  And, lame and poor, lie groaning at the gates.

  The wild O’Neill, with swarms of Irish kerns, 10

  Lives uncontroll’d within the English pale.

  Unto the walls of York the Scots made road, 11

  And unresisted drave away rich spoils.

  Y. Mor. The haughty Dane commands the narrow seas,

  While in the harbour ride thy ships unrigg’d.

  Lan. What foreign prince sends thee ambassadors—

  Y. Mor. Who loves thee, but a sort 12 of flatterers—

  Lan. Thy gentle queen, sole sister to Valois,

  Complains that thou hast left her all forlorn.

  Y. Mor. Thy court is naked, being bereft of those

  That make a king seem glorious to the world;

  I mean the peers, whom thou should’st dearly love.

  Libels are cast again thee in the street;

  Ballads and rhymes made of thy overthrow.

  Lan. The Northern borderers seeing their houses burnt,

  Their wives and children slain, run up and down,

  Cursing the name of thee and Gaveston.

  Y. Mor.