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

King Edward. 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,

   With 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 slaughter'd 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.

Re-enter GAVESTON.

Gaveston. My lord, I hear it whisper'd everywhere,

   That I am banish'd and must fly the land.

King Edward. '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.

Gaveston. Is all my hope turn'd to this hell of grief?

King Edward. Rend not my heart with thy too-piercing words:

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

Gaveston. 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.

King Edward. 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.

Gaveston. 'Tis something to be pitied of a king.

King Edward. Thou shalt not hence; I'll hide thee, Gaveston.

Gaveston. I shall be found, and then 'twill grieve me more.

King Edward. Kind words and mutual talk makes our grief greater:

   Therefore, with dumb embracement, let us part,

   Stay, Gaveston; I cannot leave thee thus.

Gaveston. For every look, my love drops down a tear:

   Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow.

King Edward. 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.

Gaveston. The peers will frown.

King Edward. I pass not for their anger. Come, let's go:

   O, that we might as well return as go!

Enter QUEEN ISABELLA.

Queen Isabella. Whither goes my lord?

King Edward. Fawn not on me, French strumpet; get thee gone!

Queen Isabella. On whom but on my husband should I fawn?

Gaveston. On Mortimer; with whom, ungentle queen,—

   I judge no more—judge you the rest, my lord.

Queen Isabella. 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?

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

King Edward. 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.

Queen Isabella. Your highness knows, it lies not in my power.

King Edward. Away, then! touch me not.—Come, Gaveston.

Queen Isabella. Villain, 'tis thou that robb'st me of my lord.

Gaveston. Madam, 'tis you that rob me of my lord.

King Edward. Speak not unto her: let her droop and pine.

Queen Isabella. 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!

King Edward. 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 King Edward and Gaveston.

Queen Isabella. O miserable and distressed queen!

   Would, when I left sweet France, and was embarked,

   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 doted 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 dote on Gaveston;

   And so am I for ever miserable.

              Re-enter Lancaster, Warwick, Pembroke, the elder Mortimer, and the younger Mortimer.

Lancaster. Look, where the sister of the king of France

   Sits wringing of her hands and beats her breast!

Warwick. The king, I fear, hath ill-treated her.

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

Young Mortimer. I know 'tis 'long of Gaveston she weeps.

Elder Mortimer. Why, he is gone.

Young Mortimer. Madam, how fares your grace?

Queen Isabella. Ah, Mortimer, now breaks the king's hate forth,

   And he confesseth that he loves me not!

Young Mortimer. Cry quittance, madam, then, and love not him.

Queen Isabella. No, rather will I die a thousand deaths:

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

Lancaster. Fear ye not, madam; now his minion's gone,

   His wanton humour will be quickly left.

Queen Isabella. O, never, Lancaster! I am enjoin'd,

   To sue unto you all for his repeal:

   This wills my lord, and this must I perform,

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

Lancaster. For his repeal, madam! he comes not back,

   Unless the sea cast up his shipwreck'd body.

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

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

Young Mortimer. But, madam, would you have us call him home?

Queen Isabella. Ay, Mortimer, for, till he be restor'd,

   The angry king hath banish'd me the court;

   And, therefore, as thou lov'st and tender'st me,

   Be thou my advocate unto these peers.

Young Mortimer. What, would you have me plead for Gaveston?

Elder Mortimer. Plead for him that will, I am resolv'd.

Lancaster. And so am I, my lord: dissuade the queen.

Queen Isabella. O, Lancaster, let him dissuade the king!

   For 'tis against my will he should return.

Warwick. Then speak not for him; let the peasant go.

Queen Isabella. 'Tis for myself I speak, and not for him.

Pembroke. No speaking will prevail; and therefore cease.

Young Mortimer. 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.

Queen Isabella. Sweet Mortimer, sit down by me a while,

   And I will tell thee reasons of such weight

   As thou wilt soon subscribe to his repeal.

Young Mortimer. It is impossible: but speak your mind.

Queen Isabella. Then, thus;—but none shall hear it but ourselves.

                                               [Talks to Young Mortimer. apart.

Lancaster. My lords, albeit the queen win Mortimer,

   Will you be resolute and hold with me?

Elder Mortimer. Not I, against my nephew.

Pembroke. Fear not; the queen's words cannot alter him.

Warwick. No? do but mark how earnestly she pleads!

Lancaster. And see how coldly his looks make denial!

Warwick. She smiles: now, for my life, his mind is chang'd!

Lancaster. I'll rather lose his friendship, I, than grant.

Young Mortimer. 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 to our avail;

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

Lancaster. 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.

Young Mortimer. My Lord of Lancaster, mark the respect.

Lancaster. In no respect can contraries be true.

Queen Isabella. Yet, good my lord, hear what he can allege.

Warwick. All that he speaks is nothing; we are resolv'd.

Young Mortimer. Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead?

Pembroke. I would he were!

Young Mortimer. Why, then, my lord, give me but leave to speak.

Elder Mortimer. But, nephew, do not play the sophister.

Young Mortimer. 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 mightiest of us all?

   And whereas he shall live and be belov'd,

   'Tis hard for us to work his overthrow.

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

Young Mortimer. 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!

Pembroke. He saith true.

Lancaster. Ay, but how chance this was not done before?

Young Mortimer. 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 the top flag of his pride,

   And fear to offend the meanest nobleman.

Elder Mortimer. But how if he do not, nephew?

Young Mortimer. 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 shall we 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.

Lancaster. On that condition Lancaster will grant.

Warwick. And so will Pembroke and I.

Elder Mortimer. And I.

Young Mortimer. In this I count me highly gratified,

   And Mortimer will rest at your command.

Queen Isabella. 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-blest.

Re-enter King Edward, mourning.