King Edward. Why
do we sound retreat? upon them, lords!
This day I shall your vengeance with my
sword
On those proud rebels that are up in arms,
And do confront and countermand their king.
Younger Spencer. I
doubt it not, my lord; right will prevail.
Elder Spencer.
'Tis not amiss, my liege, for either part
To breathe a while; our men, with sweat and
dust
All chok'd well near, begin to faint for
heat;
And this retire refresheth horse and man.
Younger Spencer. Here
come the rebels.
Enter the younger Mortimer, Lancaster,
Warwick, Pembroke, and others.
Young Mortimer. Look,
Lancaster, yonder is Edward Among his flatterers.
Lancaster. And
there let him be, Till he pay dearly for their company.
Warwick. And
shall, or Warwick's sword shall smite in vain.
King Edward. What,
rebels, do you shrink and sound retreat?
Young Mortimer. No,
Edward, no; thy flatterers faint and fly.
Lancaster. They'd
best betimes forsake thee and their trains, For they'll betray thee, traitors
as they are.
Younger Spencer. Traitor
on thy face, rebellious Lancaster!
Pembroke. Away,
base upstart! brav'st thou nobles thus?
Elder Spencer. A
noble attempt and honourable deed, Is it not, trow ye, to assemble aid And levy
arms against your lawful king?
King Edward. For
which, ere long, their heads shall satisfy T' appease the wrath of their
offended king.
Young Mortimer. Then,
Edward, thou wilt fight it to the last, And rather bathe thy sword in subjects'
blood Than banish that pernicious company?
King Edward. Ay,
traitors all, rather than thus be brav'd, Make England's civil towns huge heaps
of stones, And ploughs to go about our palace-gates.
Warwick. A
desperate and unnatural resolution! - Alarum to the fight! Saint George for
England, and the barons' right!
King Edward. Saint
George for England, and King Edward's right!
[Alarums. Exeunt the two
parties severally. Enter King Edward and his followers, with the Barons and Kent
captive.
King Edward. Now,
lusty lords, now not by chance of war,
But justice of the quarrel and the cause,
Vail'd is your pride: methinks you hang the
heads
But we'll advance them, traitors: now 'tis
time
To be aveng'd on you for all your braves,
And for the murder of my dearest friend,
To whom right well you knew our soul was
knit,
Good Pierce of Gaveston, my sweet favourite:
Ah, rebels, recreants, you made him away!
Kent. Brother, in regard
of thee and of thy land,
Did they remove that flatterer from thy
throne.
King Edward. So,
sir, you have spoke: away, avoid our presence!
[Exit Kent.
Accursed wretches, was't in regard of us,
When we had sent our messenger to request
He might be spar'd to come to speak with us,
And Pembroke undertook for his return,
That thou, proud Warwick, watch'd the
prisoner,
Poor Pierce, and headed him 'gainst law of
arms?
For which thy head shall overlook the rest
As much as thou in rage outwent'st the rest.
Warwick.
Tyrant, I scorn thy threats and menaces;
It is but temporal that thou canst inflict.
Lancaster. The
worst is death; and better die to live
Than live in infamy under such a king.
King Edward. Away
with them, my lord of Winchester!
These lusty leaders, Warwick and Lancaster,
I charge you roundly, off with both their
heads!
Away!
Warwick.
Farewell, vain world!
Lancaster. Sweet
Mortimer, farewell!
Young Mortimer. England,
unkind to thy nobility,
Groan for this grief! behold how thou art
maim'd!
King Edward. Go,
take that haughty Mortimer to the Tower;
There see him safe bestow'd; and, for the
rest,
Do speedy execution on them all.
Be gone!
Young Mortimer. What,
Mortimer, can ragged stony walls
Immure thy virtue that aspires to heaven?
No, Edward, England's scourge, it may not
be;
Mortimer's hope surmounts his fortune far.
[The
captive Barons are led off.
King Edward. Sound,
drums and trumpets! March with me, my friends.
Edward this day hath crown'd him king anew.
[Exeunt all
except the younger Spencer, Levune and Baldock.
Younger Spencer. Levune,
the trust that we repose in thee
Begets the quiet of King Edward's land:
Therefore be gone in haste, and with advice
Bestow that treasure on the lords of France,
That, therewith all enchanted, like the
guard
That suffer'd Jove to pass in showers of
gold
To Danaë, all aid may be denied
To Isabel the queen, that now in France
Makes friends, to cross the seas with her
young son,
And step into his father's regiment.
Levune.
That's it these barons and the subtle queen
Long levell'd at.
Baldock. Yea, but, Levune, thou seest,
These barons lay their heads on blocks
together:
What they intend, the hangman frustrates
clean.
Levune.
Have you no doubt, my lords, I'll clap so close
Among the lords of France with England's
gold,
That Isabel shall make her plaints in vain,
And France shall be obdurate with her tears.
Younger Spencer. Then
make for France amain; Levune, away!
Proclaim King Edward's wars and victories.
[Exeunt.
Enter KENT.
Kent. Fair blows the wind
for France: blow, gentle gale,
Till Edmund be arriv'd for England's good!
Nature, yield to my country's cause in this!
A brother? no, a butcher of thy friends!
Proud Edward, dost thou banish me thy
presence?
But I'll to France, and cheer the wronged
queen,
And certify what Edward's looseness is.
Unnatural king, to slaughter nobleman
And cherish flatterers! Mortimer, I stay
Thy sweet escape. Stand gracious, gloomy
night,
To his device!
Enter
the younger Mortimer disguised.
Young Mortimer. Holla!
who walketh there?
Is't you, my lord?
Kent. Mortimer, 'tis I.
But hath thy portion wrought so happily?
Young Mortimer. It
hath, my lord: the warders all asleep,
I thank them, gave me leave to pass in
peace.
But hath your grace got shipping unto
France?
Kent. Fear it not.
[Exeunt. Enter Queen Isabella and Prince
Edward.
Queen Isabella. Ah,
boy, our friends do fail us all in France!
The lords are cruel, and the king unkind.
What shall we do?
Prince Edward. Madam,
return to England,
And please my father well; and then a fig
For all my uncle's friendship here in
France!
I warrant you, I'll win his highness
quickly;
'A loves me better than a thousand Spencers.
Queen Isabella. Ah,
boy, thou art deceiv'd, at least in this,
To think that we can yet be tun'd together!
No, no, we jar too far. -Unkind Valois!
Unhappy Isabel, when France rejects,
Whither, O, whither dost thou bend thy
steps?
Enter
Sir John of Hainault.
Sir John of Hainault. Madam,
what cheer?
Queen Isabella. Ah,
good Sir John of Hainault,
Never so cheerless nor so far distrest!
Sir John of Hainault. I
hear, sweet lady, of the king's unkindness:
But droop not, madam; noble minds contemn
Despair. Will your grace with me to
Hainault,
And there stay time's advantage with your
son? -
How say you, my lord! will you go with your
friends,
And shake off all our fortunes equally?
Prince Edward. So
pleaseth the queen my mother, me it likes:
The king of England, not the court of
France,
Shall have me from my gracious mother's
side,
Till I be strong enough to break a staff;
And then have at the proudest Spencer's
head!
Sir John of Hainault. Well
said, my lord!
Queen Isabella. O
my sweet heart, how do I moan thy wrongs,
Yet triumph in the hope of thee, my joy! -
Ah, sweet Sir John, even to the utmost verge
Of Europe, on the shore of Tanais,
Will we with thee to Hainault -so we will:
The marquis is a noble gentleman;
His grace, I dare presume, will welcome me.
-
But who are these?
Enter
Kent and the younger Mortimer.
Kent. Madam, long may you
live,
Much happier than your friends in England
do!
Queen Isabella. Lord
Edmund and Lord Mortimer alive!
Welcome to France! the news was here, my
lord,
That you were dead, or very near your death.
Young Mortimer. Lady,
the last was truest of the twain:
But Mortimer, reserv'd for better hap,
Hath shaken off the thraldom of the Tower,
And lives t' advance your standard, good my
lord.
Prince Edward. How
mean you, and the king my father lives?
No, my Lord Mortimer, not I, I trow.
Queen Isabella. Not,
son! Why not? I would it were no worse! -
But, gentle lords, friendless we are in
France.
Young Mortimer. Monsieur
Le Grand, a noble friend of yours,
Told us, at our arrival, all the news, -
How hard the nobles, how unkind the king
Hath show'd himself: but, madam, right makes
room
Where weapons want; and, though a many
friends
Are made away, as Warwick, Lancaster,
And others of our part and faction,
Yet have we friends, assure your grace, in
England,
Would cast up caps, and clap their hands for
joy,
To see us there, appointed for our foes.
Kent. Would all were well,
and Edward well reclaim'd,
For England's honour, peace, and quietness!
Young Mortimer. But
by the sword, my lord, 't must be deserv'd:
The king will ne'er forsake his flatterers.
Sir John of Hainault. My
lords of England, sith th' ungentle king
Of France refuseth to give aid of arms
To this distressed queen, his sister, here,
Go you with her to Hainault: doubt ye not
We will find comfort, money, men, and
friends,
Ere long to bid the English king a base. -
How say'st, young prince, what think you of
the match?
Prince Edward. I
think King Edward will outrun us all.
Queen Isabella. Nay,
son, not so; and you must not discourage
Your friends that are so forward in your
aid.
Kent. Sir John of
Hainault, pardon us, I pray:
These comforts that you give our woful queen
Bind us in kindness all at your command.
Queen Isabella. Yea,
gentle brother: -and the God of heaven
Prosper your happy motion, good Sir John!
Young Mortimer. This
noble gentleman, forward in arms,
Was born, I see, to be our anchor-hold. -
Sir John of Hainault, be it thy renown,
That England's queen and nobles in distress
Have been by thee restor'd and comforted.
Sir John of Hainault. Madam,
along; and you, my lord[s], with me,
That England's peers may Hainault's welcome
see.
[Exeunt.
Enter King Edward, Arundel, the elder Spencer, the younger Spencer, and others.
King Edward. Thus,
after many threats of wrathful war,
Triumpheth England's Edward with his
friends,
And triumph Edward with his friends
uncontroll'd! -
My Lord of Glocester, do you hear the news?
Younger Spencer. What
news, my lord?
King Edward. Why,
man, they say there is great execution
Done through the realm. -My Lord of Arundel,
You have the note, have you not?
Arundel. From
the Lieutenant of the Tower, my lord.
King Edward. I
pray, let us see it. [Takes the note from
Arundel.
-What
have we there? -
Read it, Spencer.
[Gives the note to
young Spencer, who reads their names.
Why, so: they bark'd apace a month ago;
Now, on my life, they'll neither bark nor
bite.
Now, sirs, the news from France? Glocester,
I trow,
The lords of France love England's gold so
well
As Isabella gets no aid from thence.
What now remains? have you proclaim'd, my
lord,
Reward for them can bring in Mortimer?
Younger Spencer. My
lord, we have; and, if he be in England,
'A will be had ere long, I doubt it not.
King Edward. If,
dost thou say? Spencer, as true as death,
He is in England's ground: our port-masters
Are not so careless of their king's command.
Enter
a Messenger.
How now! what news with thee? from whence
come these?
Messenger.
Letters, my lord, and tidings forth of France:
To you, my Lord of Glocester, from Levune.
[Gives
letters to young Spencer.
King Edward. Read.
Younger Spencer. [reading.] My duty to your honour
promised, etc., I
have, according to instructions in that
behalf, dealt with the
King of France and his lords, and effected
that the queen, all
discontented and discomforted, is gone:
whither, if you ask,
with Sir John of Hainault, brother to the
marquis, into
Flanders. 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 battle in England, sooner
than he can
look for them. This is all the news of
import.
Your honour's in all
service, Levune.
King Edward. Ah,
villains, hath that Mortimer escap'd?
With him is Edmund gone associate?
And will Sir John of Hainault lead the
round?
Welcome, o' God's name, madam, and your son!
England shall welcome you and all your rout.
Gallop apace, bright Phbus, through the sky;
And, dusky Night, in rusty iron car,
Between 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 grieves me, but my little boy
Is thus misled to countenance their ills!
Come, friends, to Bristow, there to make us
strong:
And, winds, as equal be to bring them in,
As you
injurious were to bear them forth!
Exeunt. Enter Queen Isabella, Prince Edward,
Kent, the younger Mortimer, and Sir John of Hainault.
Queen Isabella. Now,
lords, our loving friends and countrymen,
Welcome to England all, with prosperous
winds!
Our kindest friends in Belgia have we left,
To cope with friends at home; a heavy case
When force to force is knit, and sword and
glaive
In civil broils make kin and countrymen
Slaughter themselves in others, and their
sides
With their own weapons gor'd! But what's the
help?
Misgovern'd kings are cause of all this
wreck;
And, Edward, thou art one among them all,
Whose looseness hath betray'd thy land to
spoil,
Who made the channel overflow with blood
Of thine own people: patron shouldst thou
be;
But thou -
Young Mortimer. Nay,
madam, if you be a warrior,
You must not grow so passionate in speeches.
-
Lords, sith that we are, by sufferance of
heaven,
Arriv'd and armed in this prince's right,
Here for our country's cause swear we to him
All homage, fealty, and forwardness;
And for the open wrongs and injuries
Edward hath done to us, his queen, and land,
We come in arms to wreck it with the sword;
That England's queen in peace may repossess
Her dignities and honours; and withal
We may remove these flatterers from the king
That havock England's wealth and treasury.
Sir John of Hainault. Sound
trumpets, my lord, and forward let us march.
Edward will think we come to flatter him.
Kent. I would he never had
been flatter'd more!
[Exeunt.
Enter King Edward, Baldock, and the younger Spencer.
Younger Spencer. Fly,
fly, my lord! the queen is overstrong;
Her friends do multiply, and yours do fail.
Shape we our course to Ireland, there to
breathe.
King Edward. What,
was I born to fly and run away,
And leave the Mortimers conquerors behind?
Give me my horse, and let's reinforce our
troops.
And in this bed of honour die with fame.
Baldock. O,
no, my lord! this princely resolution
Fits not the time: away! we are pursu'd.
[Exeunt. Enter Kent, with a sword and target.
Kent. This way he fled;
but I am come too late.
Edward, alas, my heart relents for thee!
Proud traitor, Mortimer, why dost thou chase
Thy lawful king, thy sovereign, with thy
sword?
Vile wretch, and why hast thou, of all
unkind,
Borne arms against thy brother and thy king?
Rain showers of vengeance on my cursed head,
Thou God, to whom in justice it belongs
To punish this unnatural revolt!
Edward, this Mortimer aims at thy life:
O, fly him, then! But, Edmund, calm this
rage;
Dissemble, or thou diest; for Mortimer
And Isabel do kiss, while they conspire:
And yet she bears a face of love, forsooth:
Fie on that love that hatcheth death and
hate!
Edmund, away! Bristow to Longshanks' blood
Is false; be not found single for suspect:
Proud Mortimer pries near into thy walks.
Enter Queen Isabella,
Prince Edward, the younger Mortimer, and Sir John Of Hainault.
Queen Isabella. Successful
battle gives the God of kings
To them that fight in right, and fear in
wrath,
Since, then, successfully we have prevail'd,
Thanked be heaven's great architect, and
you!
Ere farther we proceed, my noble lords,
We here create our well-beloved son,
Of love and care unto his royal person,
Lord Warden of the realm; and, sith the
Fates
Have made his father so infortunate,
Deal you, my lords, in this, my loving
lords,
As to your wisdoms fittest seems in all.
Kent. Madam, without
offence if I may ask
How will you deal with Edward in his fall?
Prince Edward. Tell
me, good uncle, what Edward do you mean?
Kent. Nephew, your father;
I dare not call him king.
Young Mortimer. My
Lord of Kent, what needs these questions?
'Tis not in her controlment nor in ours;
But as the realm and parliament shall
please,
So shall your brother be disposed of. -
I like not this relenting mood in Edmund:
Madam, 'tis good to look to him betimes.
[Aside to the Queen.
Queen Isabella. My
lord, the Mayor of Bristow knows our mind.
Young Mortimer. Yea,
madam; and they scape not easily
That fled the field.
Queen Isabella. Baldock
is with the king:
A goodly chancellor, is he not, my lord?
Sir John of Hainault. So
are the Spencers, the father and the son.
Young
Mortimer. This Edward is the ruin of the realm.
Enter
Rice Ap Howel with the elder Spencer prisoner, and Attendants.
Rice. God save Queen
Isabel and her princely son!
Madam, the Mayor and citizens of Bristow,
In sign of love and duty to this presence,
Present by me this traitor to the state,
Spencer, the father to that wanton Spencer,
That, like the lawless Catiline of Rome,
Revell'd in England's wealth and treasury.
Queen Isabella. We
thank you all.
Young Mortimer. Your
loving care in this
Deserveth princely favours and rewards.
But where's the king and the other Spencer
fled?
Rice. Spencer the son,
created Earl of Glocester,
Is with that smooth-tongu'd scholar Baldock
gone,
And shipp'd but late for Ireland with the
king.
Young Mortimer. Some
whirlwind fetch them back, or sink them all! - [Aside.
They shall be started thence, I doubt it
not.
Prince Edward. Shall
I not see the king my father yet?
Kent. Unhappy Edward,
chas'd from England's bounds! [Aside.
Sir John of Hainault. Madam,
what resteth? why stand you in a muse?
Queen Isabella. I
rue my lord's ill-fortune: but, alas,
Care of my country call'd me to this war!
Young Mortimer. Madam,
have done with care and sad complaint:
Your king hath wrong'd your country and
himself,
And we must seek to right it as we may. -
Meanwhile have hence this rebel to the
block.
Elder Spencer.
Rebel is he that fights against the prince:
So fought not they that fought in Edward's
right.
Young Mortimer. Take
him away; he prates.
[Exeunt Attendants
with the elder Spencer.
You, Rice ap Howel,
Shall do good service to her majesty,
Being of countenance in your country here,
To follow these rebellious runagates. -
We in mean while, madam, must take advice.
How Baldock, Spencer, and their complices,
May in their fall be follow'd to their end.
[Exeunt. Enter the Abbot, Monks, King Edward,
the younger
Spencer, and Baldock (the three latter disguised).
Abbot. Have you no doubt,
my lord; have you no fear:
As silent and as careful we will be
To keep your royal person safe with us,
Free from suspect, and fell invasion
Of such as have your majesty in chase,
Yourself, and those your chosen company,
As danger of this stormy time requires.
King Edward. Father,
thy face should harbour no deceit.
O, hadst thou ever been a king, thy heart,
Pierc'd deeply with sense of my distress,
Could not but take compassion of my state!
Stately and proud in riches and in train,
Whilom I was, powerful and full of pomp:
But what is he whom rule and empery
Have not in life or death made miserable? -
Come, Spencer, -come, Baldock, -come, sit
down by me;
Make trial now of that philosophy
That in our famous nurseries of arts
Thou suck'dst from Plato and from Aristotle.
-
Father, this life contemplative is heaven:
O, that I might this life in quiet lead!
But we, alas, are chas'd! -and you, my
friends,
Your lives and my dishonour they pursue. -
Yet, gentle monks, for treasure, gold, nor
fee,
Do you betray us and our company.
First Monk.
Your grace may sit secure, if none but we
Do wot of your abode.
Younger Spencer. Not
one alive: but shrewdly I suspect
A gloomy fellow in a mead below;
'A gave a long look after us, my lord;
And all the land, I know, is up in arms,
Arms that pursue our lives with deadly hate.
Baldock. We
were embark'd for Ireland; wretched we,
With awkward winds and with sore tempests
driven,
To fall on shore, and here to pine in fear
Of Mortimer and his confederates!
King Edward. Mortimer!
who talks of Mortimer?
Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer,
That bloody man? -Good father, on thy lap
Lay I this head, laden with mickle care.
O, might I never ope these eyes again,
Never again lift up this drooping head,
O, never more lift up this dying heart!
Younger Spencer. Look
up, my lord. -Baldock, this drowsiness
Betides no good; here even we are betray'd.
Enter, with Welsh hooks, Rice
Ap Howel, a Mower, and Leicester.
Mower. Upon my life, these
be the men ye seek.
Rice. Fellow, enough. -My
lord, I pray, be short;
A fair commission warrants what we do.
Leicester. The
queen's commission, urg'd by Mortimer:
What cannot gallant Mortimer with the queen?
-
Alas, see where he sits, and hopes unseen
T'escape their hands that seek to reave his
life!
Too true it is, Quem dies vidit veniens
superbum,
Hunc
dies vidit fugiens jacentem.
But,
Leicester, leave to grow so passionate. -
Spencer and Baldock, by no other names,
I arrest you of high treason here.
Stand not on titles, but obey th' arrest:
'Tis in the name of Isabel the queen. -
My lord, why droop you thus?
King Edward. O
day, the last of all my bliss on earth!
Centre of all misfortune! O my stars,
Why do you lour unkindly on a king?
Comes Leicester, then, in Isabella's name,
To take my life, my company from me?
Here, man, rip up this panting breast of
mine,
And take my heart in rescue of my friends.
Rice. Away with them!
Younger Spencer. It
may become thee yet
To let us take our farewell of his grace.
Abbott. My
heart with pity earns to see this sight;
A king to bear these words and proud
commands! [Aside.
King Edward. Spencer,
ah, sweet Spencer, thus, then, must we part?
Younger Spencer. We
must, my lord; so will the angry heavens.
King Edward. Nay,
so will hell and cruel Mortimer:
The gentle heavens have not to do in this.
Baldock. My
lord, it is in vain to grieve or storm.
Here humbly of your grace we take our
leaves:
Our lots are cast; I fear me, so is thine.
King Edward. In
heaven we may, in earth ne'er shall we meet: -
And, Leicester, say, what shall become of
us?
Leicester. Your
majesty must go to Killingworth.
King Edward. Must!
it is somewhat hard when kings must go.
Leicester. Here
is a litter ready for your grace,
That waits your pleasure, and the day grows
old.
Rice. As good be gone, as
stay and be benighted.
King Edward. A
litter hast thou? lay me in a hearse,
And to the gates of hell convey me hence;
Let Pluto's bells ring out my fatal knell,
And hags howl for my death at Charon's
shore;
For friends hath Edward none but these,
And these must die under a tyrant's sword.
Rice. My lord, be going:
care not for these;
For we shall see them shorter by the heads.
King Edward. Well,
that shall be shall be: part we must;
Sweet Spencer, gentle Baldock, part we must.
-
Hence, feigned weeds! unfeigned are my woes.
-
[Throwing off
his disguise.
Father, farewell. -Leicester, thou stay'st
for me;
And go I must. -Life, farewell, with my
friends!
[Exeunt King
Edward and Leicester.
