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.
_K. Edw._ 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.
_War._ Tyrant, I scorn thy threats and menaces;
It is but temporal that thou canst inflict.
_Lan._ The worst is death; and better die to live
Than live in infamy under such a king.
_K. Edw._ Away with them, my lord of Winchester!
These lusty leaders, Warwick and Lancaster,
I charge you roundly, off with both their heads!
Away!
_War._ Farewell, vain world!
_Lan._ Sweet Mortimer, farewell!
_Y. Mor._ England, unkind to thy nobility,
Groan for this grief! behold how thou art maim'd!
_K. Edw._ 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!
_Y. Mor._ 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._
_K. Edw._ Sound, drums and trumpets! March with me, my friends.
Edward this day hath crown'd him king anew.
[_Exeunt all except the younger Spenser,
Levune and Baldock._
_Y. Spen._ 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.
_Bal._ 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.
_Y. Spen._ 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._
_Y. Mor._ Holla! who walketh there?
Is't you, my lord?
_Kent._ Mortimer, 'tis I.
But hath thy portion wrought so happily?
_Y. Mor._ 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.
_Q. Isab._ Ah, boy, our friends do fail us all in France!
The lords are cruel, and the king unkind.
What shall we do?
_P. Edw._ 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 Spensers.
_Q. Isab._ 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 J._ Madam, what cheer?
_Q. Isab._ Ah, good Sir John of Hainault,
Never so cheerless nor so far distrest!
_Sir J._ 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?
_P. Edw._ 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 Spenser's head!
_Sir J._ Well said, my lord!
_Q. Isab._ 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!
_Q. Isab._ Lord Edmund and Lord Mortimer alive!
Welcome to France! the news was here, my lord,
That you were dead, or very near your death.
_Y. Mor._ 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.
_P. Edw._ How mean you, and the king my father lives?
No, my Lord Mortimer, not I, I trow.
_Q. Isab._ Not, son! Why not? I would it were no worse!--
But, gentle lords, friendless we are in France.
_Y. Mor._ 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!
_Y. Mor._ But by the sword, my lord, 't must be deserv'd:
The king will ne'er forsake his flatterers.
_Sir J._ 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?
_P. Edw._ I think King Edward will outrun us all.
_Q. Isab._ 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.
_Q. Isab._ Yea, gentle brother:--and the God of heaven
Prosper your happy motion, good Sir John!
_Y. Mor._ 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 J._ 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_ SPENSER, _the
younger_ SPENSER, _and others._
_K. Edw._ 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?
_Y. Spen._ What news, my lord?
_K. Edw._ Why, man, they say there is great execution
Done through the realm.--My Lord of Arundel,
You have the note, have you not?
_Arun._From the Lieutenant of the Tower, my lord.
_K. Edw._ I pray, let us see it. [_Takes the note from Arundel._
--What have we there?--
Read it, Spenser.
[_Gives the note to young Spenser, 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?
_Y. Spen._ My lord, we have; and, if he be in England,
'A will be had ere long, I doubt it not.
_K. Edw._ If, dost thou say? Spenser, 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?
_Mess._ Letters, my lord, and tidings forth of France:
To you, my Lord of Glocester, from Levune.
[_Gives letters to young Spenser._
_K. Edw._ Read.
_Y. Spen._ [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._
_K. Edw._ 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.
_Q. Isab._ 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--
_Y. Mor._ 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 J._ 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_ SPENSER.
_Y. Spen._ 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.
_K. Edw._ 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.
_Bald._ 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 JOHN OF HAINAULT.
_Q. Isab._ 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?
_P. Edw._ Tell me, good uncle, what Edward do you mean?
_Kent._ Nephew, your father; I dare not call him king.
_Y. Mor._ 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._
_Q. Isab._ My lord, the Mayor of Bristow knows our mind.
_Y. Mor._ Yea, madam; and they scape not easily
That fled the field.
_Q. Isab._ Baldock is with the king:
A goodly chancellor, is he not, my lord?
_Sir J._ So are the Spensers, the father and the son.
_Y. Mor._ This Edward is the ruin of the realm.
_Enter_ RICE AP HOWEL _with the elder_ SPENSER _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,
Spenser, the father to that wanton Spenser,
That, like the lawless Catiline of Rome,
Revell'd in England's wealth and treasury.
_Isab._ We thank you all.
_Y. Mor._ Your loving care in this
Deserveth princely favours and rewards.
But where's the king and the other Spenser fled?
_Rice._ Spenser 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.
_Y. Mor._ Some whirlwind fetch them back, or sink them all!-- [_Aside._
They shall be started thence, I doubt it not.
_P. Edw._ Shall I not see the king my father yet?
_Kent._ Unhappy Edward, chas'd from England's bounds! [_Aside._
_Sir J._ Madam, what resteth? why stand you in a muse?
_Q. Isab._ I rue my lord's ill-fortune: but, alas,
Care of my country call'd me to this war!
_Y. Mor._ 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.
_E. Spen._ Rebel is he that fights against the prince:
So fought not they that fought in Edward's right.
_Y. Mor._ Take him away; he prates.
[_Exeunt Attendants with the elder Spenser._
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, Spenser, and their complices,
May in their fall be follow'd to their end. [_Exeunt._
_Enter the_ Abbot, Monks, KING EDWARD, _the younger_
SPENSER, _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.
_K. Edw._ 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, Spenser,--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.
_Y. Spen._ 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.
_Bald._ 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!
_K. Edw._ 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!
_Y. Spen._ 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.
_Mow._ 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.
_Leices._ 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.--
Spenser 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?
_K. Edw._ 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!
_Y. Spen._ 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._
_K. Edw._ Spenser, ah, sweet Spenser, thus, then, must we part?
_Y. Spen._ We must, my lord; so will the angry heavens.
_K. Edw._ Nay, so will hell and cruel Mortimer:
The gentle heavens have not to do in this.
_Bald._ 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.
_K. Edw._ In heaven we may, in earth ne'er shall we meet:--
And, Leicester, say, what shall become of us?
_Leices._ Your majesty must go to Killingworth.
_K. Edw._ Must! it is somewhat hard when kings must go.
_Leices._ 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.
_K. Edw._ 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.
_K. Edw._ Well, that shall be shall be: part we must;
Sweet Spenser, 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._
_Y. Spen._ O, is he gone? is noble Edward gone?
Parted from hence, never to see us more!
Rend, sphere of heaven! and, fire, forsake thy orb!
Earth, melt to air! gone is my sovereign,
Gone, gone, alas, never to make return!
_Bald._ Spenser, I see our souls are fleeting hence;
We are depriv'd the sunshine of our life.
Make for a new life, man; throw up thy eyes
And heart and hand to heaven's immortal throne;
Pay nature's debt with cheerful countenance;
Reduce we all our lessons unto this,--
To die, sweet Spenser, therefore live we all;
Spenser, all live to die, and rise to fall.
_Rice._ Come, come, keep these preachments till you come to
the place appointed. You, and such as you are, have
made wise work in England. Will your lordships away?
_Mow._ Your lordship I trust will remember me?
_Rice._ Remember thee, fellow! what else? Follow me to
the town. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ KING EDWARD, LEICESTER, _the_ BISHOP OF
WINCHESTER, _and_ TRUSSEL.