Edward II/Act IV
Enter Edmond.
Edm.
Faire blowes the winde for France, blow gentle gale,
Till Edmond be arriv'd for Englands good,
Nature, yeeld to my Countries cause in this.
A Brother, no, a Butcher of thy friends,
Proud Edward dost thou banish me thy presence?
But Ile to France, and cheere the wronged Queene,
And certifie what Edwards loosenesse is,
Unnaturall King to slaughter Noblemen,
And cherish Flatterers: Mortimer I stay
Thy sweete escape, stand gracious gloomy night to his device,
Enter Mortimer disguised.
Mor.
Holla, who walketh there, ist you my Lord?
Edm.
Mortimer tis I, but hath thy potion wrought so happily?
Mor.
It hath my Lord, the Warders all asleepe,
I thanke them, gave me leave to passe in peace.
But hath your Grace got shipping unto France?
Edm.
Feare it not. Exeunt.
Enter the Queene and her sonne.
Qu.
Ah Boy, our friends do faile us all in France:
The Lords are cruell and the King unkind,
What shall we doe?
Prince.
Madam, returne to England,
And please my Father well, and then a Fig
For all my Uncles friendship heere in France,
I warrant you Ile winne his Highnesse quickly,
A loves me better than a thousand Spencers.
Qu
Ah Boy, thou art deceiv'd at least in this,
To thinke that we can yet be tun'd together,
No, no, we jarre too farre, unkinde Valoys,
Unhappy Isabell, when France rejects,
Whither, O whither dost thou bend thy steps?
Enter Sir John of Henolt.
S. John.
Madam, what cheere?
Qu
A good Sir John of Henolt,
Never so cheerelesse, nor so farre distrest.
S. John.
I heare sweete Lady of the Kings unkindenesse,
But droope not Madam, Noble minds contemne
Despaire: will your Grace with me to Henolt,
And there stay times advantage with your sonne?
How say you my Lord, will you goe with your friends,
And shake off all our fortunes equally?
Prin.
So pleaseth the Queene my Mother, me it likes,
The King of England, nor the Court of France,
Shall have me from my gratious Mothers side,
Till I be strong enough to breake a staffe,
And then have at the proudest Spencers head.
Sir John.
Well said my Lord.
Qu
Oh my sweete heart, how do I mone thy wrongs?
Yet triumph in the hope of thee my joy,
Ah sweete Sir John, even to the utmost verge
of Europe, or the shore of Tanaise,
Will we with thee to Henolt, so we will,
The Marquesse is a noble Gentleman,
His Grace I dare presume will welcome me,
But who are these?
Enter Edmond and Mortimer.
Edm.
Madam, long may you live,
Much happier then your friends in England do.
Qu.
Lord Edmond and Lord Mortimer alive,
Welcome to France: the newes was here my Lord,
That you were dead, or very neere your death.
Mor.ju.
Lady, the last was truest of the twaine,
But Mortimer reserv'd for better hap,
Hath shaken off the thraldome of the Tower,
And lives to advance your Standard good my Lord.
Prin.
How meane you, and the King my Father lives?
No my Lord Mortimer, not I, I trow.
Qu.
Not sonne, why not? I would it were no worse,
But gentle Lords, friendlesse we are in France.
Mor.ju.
Mounsier le Grand, a Noble friend of yours,
Told us at our arrivall all the newes,
How hard the Nobles, how unkind the King
Hath shewed himselfe, but Madam, right makes roome,
Where weapons want, and though a many friends,
Are made away, as Warwicke, Lancaster,
And others of our party and faction,
Yet have we friends, assure your Grace in England
Would cast up cappes, and clap their hands for joy,
To see us there appointed for our foes.
Edm.
Would all were well, and Edward well reclaim'd,
For Englands honour, peace, and quietnesse.
Mor.
But by the sword, my Lord, it must be deserv'd,
The King will nere forsake his flatterers.
S. John.
My Lords of England, sith the ungentle King
Of France refuseth to give aid of armes,
To this distressed Queene his Sister heere,
Goe you with her to Henolt, doubt ye not,
We will find comfort, mony, men, and friends,
Ere long, to bid the English King abase,
How say young Prince, what thinke you of the match?
Prin.
I thinke King Edward will outrunne us all.
Qu.
Nay Sonne, not so, and you must not discourage
Your friends that are so forward in your aide.
Edm.
Sir John of Henolt, pardon us I pray,
These comforts that you give our wofull Queene,
Bind us in kindenesse all at your command.
Qu.
Yea gentle brother, and the God of Heaven,
Prosper your happy motion good Sir John.
Mor.
This noble Gentleman forward in armes,
Was borne I see to be our Anchor hold,
Sir John of Henolt, be it thy renowne,
That Englands Queene, and Nobles in distresse,
Have beene by thee restor'd and comforted.
S. John.
Madame along, and you my Lord with me,
That Englands Peeres may Henolts welcome see.
Enter the King, Matrevis, the two Spencers, with others.
Edw.
Thus after many threats of wrathfull warre,
Triumpheth Englands Edward with his friends,
And triumph Edward with his friends uncontrold.
My Lord of Gloster, doe you heare the newes?
Spen.ju.
What newes my Lord?
Edw.
Why man they say there is great execution
Done through the Realme, my Lord of Arundell
You have the note, have you not?
Mat.
From the Lieutenant of the Tower my Lord.
Edw.
I pray let us see it what have we there?
Read it Spencer. Spencer reades their names.
Why so? they bark't apace a month agoe,
Now on my life, theile neither barke nor bite.
Now sirs, the newes from France. Gloster I trow,
The Lords of France love Englands gold so well,
As Isabell gets no aid from thence.
What now remaines, have you proclaim'd my Lord,
Reward for them can bring in Mortimer?
Spen.ju.
My Lord, we have, and if he be in England,
A will be had ere long I doubt it not.
Edw.
If, doost thou say? Spencer, as true as death.
He is in Englands ground, our Port-masters
Are not so carelesse of their Kings command.
Enter a Poaste.
Poast.
Letters my Lord, and tidings forth of France,
To you my Lord of Gloster from Lewne.
Edw.
Reade.
Spencer reades the Letters.
Your Honours in all service, Lewne.
Edw.
Ah Villaines, hath that Mortimer escapt?
With him is Edmond gone associate:
And will Sir John of Henolt lead the round?
Welcome a Gods name Madam and your sonne,
England shall welcome you, and all your route,
Gallop apace bright Phæbus through the skye,
And dusky night in rusty Iron Carre,
Betweene you both, shorten the time I pray,
That I may see that most desired day,
When we may meet these traitors in the field.
Ah nothing greeves me but my little Boy,
Is thus misled to countenance their ils.
Come friends to Bristow, there to make us strong,
And winds as equall be to bring them in,
As you injurious were to beare them forth.
Enter the Queene, her son, Edmond, Mortimer, and Sir John.
Qu.
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 glave
In civill broiles make kin and countrimen
Slaughter themselves in others, and their sides
With their owne weapons goar'd, but what's the helpe?
Misgoverned Kings are cause of all this wrack,
And Edward thou art one among them all,
Whose loosnesse hath betrayed thy Land to spoyle,
And made the Channell overflow with bloud
Of thine owne people: patron shouldst thou be, but thou.
Mor.
Nay madam, if you be a Warrier,
You must not grow so passionate in speeches.
Lords, sith that we are by sufferance of Heaven,
Arriv'd and armed in this Princes right,
Heere for our Countries cause sweare we to him
All homage, fealty and forwardnesse,
And for the open wrongs and injuries
Edward hath done to us, his Queene and Land,
We come in armes to wrecke it with the sword:
That Englands Queene in peace may reposesse
Her Dignities and honours: and withall
We may remove these flatterers from the King,
That havocks Englands wealth and treasury.
S. Jo.
Sound Trumpets my Lord, and forward let us march
Edward will thinke we come to flatter him.
Edm.
I would he never had beene flattered more.
Enter the King, Baldocke, and Spencer the
sonne, flying about the Stage.
Spen.
Fly, fly, my Lord, the Queene is over-strong,
Her friends do multiply, and yours do fayle,
Shape we our course to Ireland there to breath.
Edw.
What, was I borne to flye and runne away,
And leave the Mortimers Conquerours behinde?
Give me my Horse and lets re'nforce our troopes:
And in this bed of honour dye with fame.
Bald.
O no my Lord, this Princely resolution
Fits not the time, away, we are pursued.
Edmond alone with a Sword and Target.
Edm.
This way he fled, but I am come too late,
Edward, alas my heart relents for thee,
Proud Traytor Mortimer why dost thou chase
Thy lawfull King thy Soveraigne with thy sword?
Vilde wretch, and why hast thou of all unkinde,
Borne armes against thy Brother and thy King?
Raine showers of Vengeance on my cursed head
Thou God, to whom in justice it belongs
To punish this unnaturall revolt:
Edward, this Mortimer aimes at thy life:
O flye him then, but Edmond calme this rage,
Dissemble or thou diest, for Mortimer
And Isabell do kisse while they conspire,
And yet she beares a face of love forsooth:
Fie on that love that hatcheth death and hate,
Edmond away, Bristow to Longshankes bloud
Is false, be not found single for suspect:
Proud Mortimer pries neere into thy walkes.
Enter the Queene, Mortimer, the yong Prince
and Sir John of Henalt.
Qu.
Succesfull battell gives the God of Kings,
To them that fight in right and feare his wrath:
Since then successively we have prevail'd,
Thanked be Heavens great architect and you,
Ere farther we proceede my noble Lords,
We heere create our welbeloved sonne,
Of love and care unto his royall person,
Lord Warden of the Realme, and sith the fates
Have made his father so unfortunate,
Deale you my Lords in this, my loving Lords,
As to your wisedomes fittest seemes in all.
Edm.
Madam, without offence if I may aske,
How will you deale with Edward in his fall?
Prin.
Tell me good Unkle, what Edward do you meane?
Edm.
Nephew, your father, I dare not call him King.
Mor.
My Lord of Kent, what needes these questions?
Tis not in her controulment, nor in ours,
But as the Realme and Parliament shall please,
So shall your Brother be disposed of.
I like not this relenting moode in Edmond.
Madam, tis good to looke to him betimes.
Qu.
My Lord, the Maior of Bristow knows our mind.
Mor.
Yea Madam, and they scape not easily,
That fled the field.
Qu.
Baldocke is with the King.
A goodly Chancellour, is he not my Lord?
S. John.
So are the Spencers, the father and the sonne.
Edm.
This Edward is the ruine of the Realme.
Enter Rice ap Howell, and the Maior of Bristow,
with Spencer the father.
Rice.
God save Queene Isabell, and her Princely sonne,
Madam, the Maior and Citizens of Bristow,
In signe of love and duty to this presence,
Present by me this Traytor to the State,
Spencer, the Father to that wanton Spencer,
That like the lawlesse Catiline of Rome,
Reveld in Englands wealth and Treasury.
Qu.
We thanke you all.
Mor.ju.
Your loving care in this,
Deserveth Princely favours and rewards,
But where's the King and the other Spencer fled?
Rice.
Spencer the sonne, created Earle of Glocester,
Is with that smooth tongu'd Scholler Baldocke gone,
And shipt but late for Ireland with the King.
Mor.ju.
Some whirlewind fetch them backe, or sinke them all:
They shall be started thence I doubt it not.
Prin.
Shall I not see the King my father yet?
Edm.
Unhappi's Edward, chast from Englands bounds.
S. John.
Madam, what resteth, why stand ye in a muse?
Qu.
I rue my Lords ill fortune, but alas,
Care of my Country cald me to this warre.
Mor.
Madam, have done with care and sad complaint,
Your King hath wrong'd your Country and himselfe,
And we must seeke to right it as we may.
Meane while, have hence this Rebell to the block.
Spen pa.
Rebell is he that fights against the Prince,
So fought not they that fought in Edwards right.
Mor.
Take him away, he prates. You Rice ap Howell,
Shall do good service to her Majesty,
Being of countenance in your Country heere,
To follow these rebellious Runagates,
We in meane while Madam, must take advice,
How Baldock, Spencer, and their complices,
May in their fall be followed to their end. Exeunt omnes.
Enter the Abbot, Monkes, Edward, Spencer,
and Baldocke.
Ab.
Have you no doubt my Lord, have you no feare.
As silent and as carefull will we be,
To keepe your Royall person safe with us,
Free from suspect and fell invasion
Of such as have your Majesty in chase,
Your selfe, and those your chosen company,
As danger of this stormy time requires.
Edw.
Father, thy face should harbour no deceit,
O had'st thou ever beene a King, thy heart
Pierc't deepely with sence of my distresse,
Could not but take compassion of my state.
Stately and proud, in riches and in traine
Whilom I was powerfull and full of pompe,
But what is he, whome rule and Empery
Have not in life or death made miserable?
Come Spencer, come Baldocke, come sit downe by me,
Make tryall now of that Philosophie,
That in our famous nurseries of Arts
Thou suckedst from Plato, and from Aristotle.
Father, this life contemplative is Heaven,
O that I might this life in quiet lead,
But we alas are chast, and you my friends,
Your lives and my dishonour they pursue,
Yet gentle Monkes, for Treasure, Gold, nor Fee,
Doe you betray us and our company.
Mon.
Your Grace may sit secure, if none but wee do wot of your abode.
Spen.
Not one alive, but shrewdly I suspect,
A gloomy fellow in a Mead below,
A gave a long looke after us my Lord,
And all the Land I know is up in armes,
Armes that pursue our lives with deadly hate.
Bald.
We were imbark't for Ireland, wretched we,
With aukward winds, and with sore tempests driven
To fall on shore, and here to pine in feare
Of Mortimer and his Confederates.
Edw.
Mortimer, who talkes of Mortimer
Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer
That bloudy man? good father on thy lap
Lay I this head, laden with mickle care,
O might I never ope these eyes againe,
Never againe lift up this drooping head,
O never more lift up this dying heart!
Spen.son.
Looke up my Lord. Baldocke, this drowsinesse
Betides no good, here even we are betrayed.
Enter with Welch hookes, Rice ap Howell, a Mower,
and the Earle of Leicester.
Mower.
Upon my life, these be the men ye seeke,
Rice.
Fellow enough: my Lord I pray be short,
A faire Commission warrants what we doe.
Lei.
The Queenes commission, urg'd by Mortimer,
What cannot gallant Mortimer doe with the Queene?
Alas, see where he sits, and hopes unseene,
T'escape their hands that seeke to reave his Life:
Too true it is, quem dies vidit veniens superbum,
Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem.
But Leister leave to grow so passionate,
Spencer and Baldocke by no other names,
I arrest you of high treason heere,
Stand not on Titles, but obey the arrest,
Tis in the name of Isabell the Queene.
My Lord, why droope you thus?
Edw.
O day! the last of all my blisse on earth,
Center of all misfortune. O my Starres!
Why do you lowre unkindly on a King?
Came Leister then in Isabellas name,
To take my life, my company from me?
Heere man rip up this panting breast of mine,
And take my heart in reskew of my friends.
Rice.
Away with them.
Spen.ju.
It may become thee yet,
To let us take our farewell of his Grace.
Abb.
My heart with pitty earnes to see this sight,
A King to beare these words and proud commands.
Edw.
Spencer, ah sweet Spencer, thus then must we part.
Spen.ju.
We must my Lord, so will the angry Heavens.
Edw.
Nay so will Hell, and cruell Mortimer:
The gentle Heavens have not to do in this.
Bald.
My Lord, it is in vaine to grieve or storme,
Heere humbly of your Grace we take our leaves,
Our Lots are cast, I feare me so is thine,
Edw.
In Heaven we may, in earth never shall wee meete,
And Leister say, what shall become of us?
Lei.
Your Majesty must goe to Killingworth.
Edw.
Must! Tis somwhat hard, when Kings must go.
Lei.
Here is a Litter ready for your Grace,
That waites your pleasure, and the day growes old.
Rice.
As good be gone as stay and be benighted.
Edw.
A Litter hast thou, Lay me in a Hearse,
And to the gates of Hell convay me hence,
Let Plutos Bels ring out my fatall knell,
And Hags howle for my death at Charons shore,
For friends hath Edward none, but these, and these,
And these must dye under a Tyrants sword.
Rice.
My Lord be going, care not for these,
For we shall see them shorter by the heads.
Edw.
Well, that shall be, shall be, part we must,
Sweete Spencer, gentle Baldocke, part we must,
Hence fained weedes, unfained are my woes,
Father, farewell: Leister thou staist for me,
And goe I must, Life farewell with my friends. Exeunt Edward and Lancaster.
Spen.
O is he gone! is Noble Edward gone,
Parted from hence, never to see us more!
Rent Sphere of Heaven, and fire forsake thy Orbe,
Earth melt to Aire, gone is my Soveraigne,
Gone, gone alas, never to make returne.
Bald.
Spencer, I see our soules are fleeting hence,
We are depriv'd the sun-shine of our life,
Make for a new life man, throw up thy eyes,
And heart and hand to Heavens immortall Throne,
Pay Natures debt with cheerefull countenance,
Reduce we all our Lessons unto this,
To dye sweet Spencer, therefore live we all,
Spencer, all live to dye, and rise to fall.
Rice.
Come, come, keepe these preachments till you come to the place appointed.
You, & such as you are, have made wise work in England.
Will your Lordships away?
Mower.
Your worship I trust will remember me?
Rice.
Remember thee fellow? what else?
Follow me to the Towne.