Thursday's Serial: "Edward II" by Christopher Marlowe (in English) - III

Enter, on one side, the elder MORTIMER, and the younger MORTIMER; on the other, WARWICK, and LANCASTER.

Warwick. 'Tis true, the bishop is in the Tower,

   And goods and body given to Gaveston.

Lancaster. What, will they tyrannise upon the church?

   Ah, wicked King! accursed Gaveston!

   This ground, which is corrupted with their steps,

   Shall be their timeless sepulchre or mine.

Young Mortimer. Well, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure;

   Unless his breast be sword-proof, he shall die.

Elder Mortimer. How now! why droops the Earl of Lancaster?

Young Mortimer. Wherefore is Guy of Warwick discontent?

Lancaster. That villain Gaveston is made an earl.

Elder Mortimer. An earl!

Warwick. Ay, and besides Lord-chamberlain of the realm,

   And Secretary too, and Lord of Man.

Elder Mortimer. We may not nor we will not suffer this.

Young Mortimer.  Why post we not from hence to levy men?

Lancaster. "My Lord of Cornwall" now at every word;

   And happy is the man whom he vouchsafes,

   For vailing of his bonnet, 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.

Warwick. Thus leaning on the shoulder of the king,

   He nods, and scorns, and smiles at those that pass.

Elder Mortimer. Doth no man take exceptions at the slave?

Lancaster. All stomach him, but none dare speak a word.

Young Mortimer.  Ah, that bewrays their baseness, Lancaster!

   Were all the earls and barons of my mind,

   We'd 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.

Warwick. Here comes my Lord of Canterbury's grace.

Lancaster. His countenance bewrays he is displeas'd.

    Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and an Attendant.

Archbishop of Canterbury. First, were his sacred garments rent and torn;

   Then laid they violent hands upon him; next,

   Himself imprison'd, and his goods asseiz'd:

   This certify the Pope: away, take horse. [Exit Attendant.

Lancaster. My lord, will you take arms against the king?

Archbishop of Canterbury. What need I? God himself is up in arms

   When violence is offer'd to the church.

Young Mortimer. Then will you join with us, that be his peers,

   To banish or behead that Gaveston?

Archbishop of Canterbury. What else, my lords? for it concerns me near;

   The bishoprick of Coventry is his.

Enter QUEEN ISABELLA.

Young Mortimer.  Madam, whither walks your majesty so fast?

Queen Isabella. Unto the forest, gentle Mortimer,

   To live in grief and baleful discontent;

   For now my lord the king regards me not,

   But dotes 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."

Elder Mortimer. Is it not strange that he is thus bewitch'd?

Young Mortimer. 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.

Archbishop of Canterbury. But yet lift not your swords against the king.

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

Warwick. And war must be the means, or he'll stay still.

Queen Isabella. 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.

Archbishop of Canterbury. 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.

Lancaster. What we confirm the king will frustrate.

Young Mortimer. Then may we lawfully revolt from him.

Warwick. But say, my lord, where shall this meeting be?

Archbishop of Canterbury. At the New Temple.

Young Mortimer. Content.

Archbishop of Canterbury. And, in the meantime, I'll entreat you all

   To cross to Lambeth, and there stay with me.

Lancaster. Come, then, let's away.

Young Mortimer. Madam, farewell.

Queen Isabella. Farewell, sweet Mortimer, and, for my sake,

   Forbear to levy arms against the king.

Young Mortimer. Ay, if words will serve; if not, I must. [Exeunt.

Enter GAVESTON and KENT.

Gaveston. 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,

   Are gone towards Lambeth: there let them remain. [Exeunt.

Enter LANCASTER, WARWICK, PEMBROKE, the elder MORTIMER, the younger MORTIMER, the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and Attendants.

Lancaster. Here is the form of Gaveston's exile; May it please your lordship to subscribe your name.

Archbishop of Canterbury. Give me the paper. [He subscribes, as the others do after him.

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

Warwick. But I long more to see him banish'd hence.

Young Mortimer. The name of Mortimer shall fright the king, Unless he be declin'd from that base peasant.

Enter KING EDWARD, GAVESTON, and KENT.

King Edward. What, are you mov'd that Gaveston sits here?

   It is our pleasure; we will have it so.

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

   For nowhere else the new earl is so safe.

Elder Mortimer. What man of noble birth can brook this sight?

   Quam male conveniunt!—

   See, what a scornful look the peasant casts!

Pembroke. Can kingly lions fawn on creeping ants?

Warwick. Ignoble vassal, that, like Phaeton,

   Aspir'st unto the guidance of the sun!

Young Mortimer. Their downfall is at hand, their forces down:

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

King Edward. Lay hands on that traitor Mortimer!

Elder Mortimer. Lay hands on that traitor Gaveston!

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

Warwick. We know our duties; let him know his peers.

King Edward. Whither will you bear him? stay, or ye shall die.

Elder Mortimer. We are no traitors; therefore threaten not.

Gaveston. No, threaten not, my lord, but pay them home.

   Were I a king—

Young Mortimer. Thou, villain! wherefore talk'st thou of a king,

   That hardly art a gentleman by birth?

King Edward. Were he a peasant, being my minion,

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

Lancaster. My lord—you may not thus disparage us.—

   Away, I say, with hateful Gaveston!

Elder Mortimer. And with the Earl of Kent that favours him.

[Attendants remove Gaveston and Kent.

King Edward. 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?

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

Young Mortimer. What we have done, our heart-blood shall maintain.

Warwick. Think you that we can brook this upstart['s] pride?

King Edward. Anger and wrathful fury stops my speech.

Archbishop of Canterbury. Why are you not mov'd? be patient, my lord,

   And see what we your counsellors have done.

Young Mortimer. My lords, now let us all be resolute,

   And either have our wills, or lose our lives.

King Edward. Meet you for this, proud over-daring peers!

   Ere my sweet Gaveston shall part from me,

   This isle shall fleet upon the ocean,

   And wander to the unfrequented Inde.

Archbishop of Canterbury. 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.

Young Mortimer. Curse him, if he refuse; and then may we

   Depose him, and elect another king.

King Edward. Ay, there it goes! but yet I will not yield:

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

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

Archbishop of Canterbury. 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.

King Edward. It boots me not to threat; I must speak fair:

   The legate of the Pope will be obey'd.— [Aside.

   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.

Archbishop of Canterbury. Nothing shall alter us; we are resolv'd.

Lancaster. Come, come, subscribe.

Young Mortimer. Why should you love him whom the world hates so?

King Edward. 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.

Warwick. You that are princely-born should shake him off:

   For shame, subscribe, and let the lown depart.

Elder Mortimer. Urge him, my lord.

Archbishop of Canterbury. Are you content to banish him the realm?

King Edward. I see I must, and therefore am content:

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

Young Mortimer. The king is love-sick for his minion.

King Edward. 'Tis done: and now, accursed hand, fall off!

Lancaster. Give it me: I'll have it publish'd in the streets.

Young Mortimer. I'll see him presently despatch'd away.

Archbishop of Canterbury. Now is my heart at ease.

Warwick. And so is mine.

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

Elder Mortimer. Be it or no, he shall not linger here.

                                        [Exeunt all except King Edward.