Mort. The idle triumphs, masks, lascivious shows,
And prodigal gifts bestow'd on Gaveston,
Have drawn thy treasure dry, and made thee weak ;
The murmuring commons, overstretched, break.
Lan. Look for rebellion, look to be depos'd;
Thy garrisons are beaten out of France,
And lame and poor lie groaning at the gates.
The wild Oneyle, with swarms of Irish kerns,
Live uncontroul'd within the English_pale.
Unto the walls of York the Scots make road,
And unresisted draw away rich spoils.
Mort. jun. The haughty Dane commands the narrow seas,
While in the harbour ride thy ships unrigg'd.
Lan. What foreign prince sends thee embassadors?
Mort. Who loves thee but a sort of flatterers?
Lan. Thy gentle queen, sole sister to Valoys,
Complains, that thou hast left her all forlorn.
Mort. Thy court is naked, being bereft of those,
That make a king seem glorious to the world:
I mean the peers, whom thou shouldst dearly love.
Libels are cast against thee in the street :
Ballads and rhymes made of thy overthrow.
Lan. The Northern brothers, seeing their houses burnt, Their wives and children slain, run up and down
Cursing the name of thee and Gaveston.
Mort. When wert thou in the field with banner spread?
But once and then thy soldiers march'd like players,
With garish robes, not armour; and thyself
Bedaub'd with gold, rode laughing at the rest,
Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest,
Where woman's favours hung like labels down.
Lan. And thereof came it, that the fleering Scots,
To England's high disgrace, have made this jig:-
Maids of England, sore may you moorn,
For your lemmons you have lost at Bennock's born,
With a heave and a ho.
What weened the king of England,
So soon to have woon Scotland,
With a rombelow?
Mort. Wigmore shall fly to set my uncle free.
Lan. And when 'tis gone, our swords shall purchase more.
If ye be mov'd, revenge it as you can;
Look next to see us with our ensigns spread.
[Exeunt Nobles. [Act ii., Sc. 2.]
1A principal manor belonging to the Mortimers.
The King being deposed, surrenders his crown into the hands of the Bishop of Winchester and the Earl of Leicester at Killingworth Castle.
Leic. Be patient, good my lord, cease to lament, Imagine Killingworth castle were your court,
And that you lay for pleasure here a space,
Not of compulsion or necessity.
Edw. Leicester, if gentle words might comfort me,
Thy speeches long ago had eas'd my sorrows;
For kind and loving hast thou always been.
The griefs of private men are soon allay'd,
But not of kings. The forest deer being struck,
Runs to a herb that closeth up the wounds;
But when the imperial lion's flesh is gor'd,
He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw,
And highly scorning that the lowly earth
Should drink his blood, mounts up to th' air.
And so it fares with me, whose dauntless mind
Th' ambitious Mortimer would seek to curb,
And that unnatural queen, false Isabel,
That thus hath pent and mew'd me in a prison:
For such outrageous passions claw my soul,
As with the wings of rancour and disdain
Full oft am I soaring up to high heav'n,
To 'plain me to the gods against them both.
But when I call to mind I am a king,
Methinks I should revenge me of the wrongs,
That Mortimer and Isabel have done.
But what are kings, when regiment is gone,
But perfect shadows in a sunshine day?
My nobles rule, I bear the name of king;
I wear the crown, but am controul'd by them,
By Mortimer, and my unconstant queen,
Who spots my nuptial bed with infamy;
Whilst I am lodg'd within this cave of care,
Where sorrow at my elbow still attends,
To company my heart with sad laments,
That bleeds within me for this strange exchange.
But tell me, must I now resign my crown,
To make usurping Mortimer a king?
Bish. Your grace mistakes; it is for England's good,
And princely Edward's right, we crave the crown.
Edw. No, 'tis for Mortimer, not Edward's head;
For he's a lamb, encompassed by wolves,
Which in a moment will abridge his life.
But if proud Mortimer do wear this crown,
Heav'ns turn it to a blaze of quenchless fire,
Or like the snaky wreath of Tisiphon,
Engirt the temples of his hateful head;
So shall not England's vines be perished,
But Edward's name survive, though Edward dies.
Leic. My lord, why waste you thus the time away?
They stay your answer: will you yield your crown?
Edw. Ah, Leicester, weigh how hardly I can brook
To lose my crown and kingdom without cause;
To give ambitious Mortimer my right,
That like a mountain overwhelms my bliss,
In which extreme my mind here murther'd is.
But what the heav'ns appoint, I must obey.
Here, take my crown; the life of Edward too;
Two kings in England cannot reign at once---
But stay awhile, let me be king till night,
That I may gaze upon this glittering crown;
So shall my eyes receive their last content,
My head the latest honour due to it,
And jointly both yield up their wished right.
Continue ever, thou celestial sun;
Let never silent night possess this clime ;
Stand still, you watches of the element;
All times and seasons, rest you at a stay,
That Edward may be still fair England's king.
But day's bright beam doth vanish fast away,
And needs I must resign my wished crown.
Inhuman creatures! nurs'd with tigers' milk!
Why gape you for your sovereign's overthrow?
My diadem I mean, and guiltless life.
See, monsters, see, I'll wear my crown again.
What, fear you not the fury of your king?
But, hapless Edward, thou art fondly led;
They pass not for thy frowns as late they did,
But seek to make a new-elected king;
Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts,
Which thoughts are martyred with endless torments,
And in this torment comfort find I none,
But that I feel the crown upon my
And therefore let me wear it yet awhile.
Mess. My lord, the parliament must have present news,
And therefore say, will you resign or no?
Edw. I'll not resign! but whilst I live, be king.
Traitors be gone, and join with Mortimer.
Elect, conspire, install, do what you will;
Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries!
Bish. This answer we'll return, and so farewell.
Leic. Call them again, my lord, and speak them fair ;
For if they go, the prince shall lose his right.
Edw. Call thou them back; I have no power to speak.
Leic. My lord, the king is willing to resign.
Bish. If he be not, let him choose.
Edw. O, would I might! but heav'n and earth conspire To make me miserable! here, receive my crown ;
Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine
Shall not be guilty of so foul a crime.
He of you all that most desires my blood,
And will be call'd the murtherer of a king,
Take it. What, are you moved? pity you me?
Then send for unrelenting Mortimer,
And Isabel, whose eyes, being turn'd to steel,
Will sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear.
Yet stay, for rather than I will look on them,
Here, here now sweet God of heav'n,
Make me despise this transitory pomp,
And sit for ever inthroniz'd in heav'n!
Come death, and with thy fingers close my eyes,
Or, if I live, let me forget myself.
Berkley Castle. The king is left alone with Lightborn,
Edw. Who's there? what light is that? wherefore com'st thou ? Light. To comfort you, and bring you joyful news.
Edw. Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks.
Villain, I know thou com'st to murder me.
Light. To murder you, my most gracious lord!
Far is it from my heart to do you harm.
The queen sent me to see how you were us'd,
For she relents at this your misery:
And what eyes can refrain from shedding tears,
To see a king in this most piteous state?
Edw. Weep'st thou already? list a while to me,
And then thy heart, were it as Gurney's1 is,
Or as Matrevis',1 hewn from the Caucasus,
Yet will it melt, ere I have done my tale.
This dungeon where they keep me is a sink
Wherein the filth of all the castle falls.
Edw. And there, in mire and puddle have I stood
This ten days' space; and lest that I should sleep,
One plays continually upon a drum.
They give me bread and water, being a king;
So that, for want of sleep and sustenance,
My mind's distemper'd, and my body's numb'd,
And whether I have limbs or no, I know not.
O, would my blood drop out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tattered robes!
Tell Isabel the queen, I look'd not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhors'd the duke of Cleremont.
Light. O, speak no more, my lord! this breaks my heart. Lie on this bed, and rest yourself awhile.
Edw. These looks of thine can harbour nought but death:
I see my tragedy written in thy brows.
Yet stay awhile, forbear thy bloody hand,
And let me see the stroke before it comes,
That even then when I shall lose my life,
My mind may be more stedfast on my God.
Light. What means your highness to mistrust me thus?
Edw. What mean'st thou to dissemble with me thus?
Light. These hands were never stain'd with innocent blood,
Nor shall they now be tainted with a king's.
Edw. Forgive my thought, for having such a thought. One jewel have I left, receive thou this.
Still fear I, and I know not what's the cause,
But every joint shakes as I give it thee.
O, if thou harbour'st murder in thy heart,
Let this gift change thy mind, and save thy soul.
Know that I am a king: Oh, at that name
I feel a hell of grief. Where is my crown?
Gone, gone, and do I still remain alive?
Light. You're overwatch'd, my lord, lie down and rest. Edw. But that grief keeps me waking, I should sleep; For not these ten days have these eyelids closed.
Now as I speak they fall, and yet with fear
Open again. O wherefore sitt'st thou here?
Light. If you mistrust me, I'll be gone, my lord.
Edw. No, no, for if thou mean'st to murder me,
Thou wilt return again; and therefore stay.
Light. He sleeps.
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