Than you by this unconquer❜d arm of mine.
To make you fierce and fit my appetite,
You shall be fed with flesh as raw as blood,
And drink in pails the strongest muscadel:
If you can live with it, then live and draw
My chariot swifter than the racking clouds:
If not, then die like beasts, and fit for nought
But perches for the black and fatal ravens.
Thus am I right the scourge of highest Jove. &c.

EDWARD THE SECOND: A TRAGEDY, BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.

Gaveston shews what pleasures those are which the King chiefly delights in.

Gav. I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,
Musicians, that with touching of a string
May draw the pliant King which way I please.
Music and poetry are his delight;

Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night,
Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows;
And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,
Like Sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad;
My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
Shall with their goat-feet dance the antick hay.
Sometimes a lovely boy in Dian's shape,
With hair that gilds the water as it glides,
Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,
And in his sportful hands an olive tree
To hide those parts which men delight to see,
Shall bathe him in a spring, and there hard by,
One like Acteon, peeping thro' the grove,
Shall by the angry goddess be transform'd,
And running in the likeness of an hart,

By yelping hounds pull'd down, shall seem to die;
Such things as these best please his majesty.

The

The younger Mortimer repines at the insolence of Gaveston, Mort. sen. Nephew, I must to Scotland, thou stay'st here.

Leave now to oppose thyself against the King,
Thou seest by nature he is mild and calm,
And seeing his mind so doats on Gaveston,
Let him without controulment have his will.
The mightiest kings have had their minions ;
Great Alexander lov'd Hephestion;
The conquering Hercules for his Hilas, wept,
And for Patroclus stern Achilles droop'd.
And not kings only, but the wisest men ;
The Roman Tully lov'd Octavius;
Grave Socrates wild Alcibiades.

Then let his grace, whose youth is flexible,
And promiseth as much as we can wish,
Freely enjoy that vain light-headed earl,

For riper years will wean him from such toys.

Mort. jun. Uncle, his wanton humour grieves not me;

But this I scorn, that one so basely born,

Should by his sovereign's favour grow so pert,
And riot with the treasure of the realm.
While soldiers mutiny for want of pay,
He wears a lord's revenue on his back,
And Midas-like, he jets it in the court,
With base outlandish cullions at his heels,
Whose proud fantastick liveries make such show,
As if that Proteus, god of shapes, appear'd.
I have not seen a dapper jack so brisk;
He wears a short Italian hooded cloak,
Larded with pearl, and in his Tuscan cap
A jewel of more value than the crown.
While others walk below, the king and he,
From out a window, laugh at such as we,
And flout our train, and jest at our attire,
Uncle, 'tis this that makes me impatient,

The Barons reproach the King with the calamities which the realm endures from the ascendancy of his wicked favourite, Gaveston.

KING EDWARD. LANCASTER. WARWICK. The MORTIMERS, and other Lords.

Mort. jun. Nay, stay, my lord, I come to bring you

news.

Mine uncle is taken prisoner by the Scots.

Edw. Then ransom him.

Lan. Twas in your wars, you should ransom him. Mort. jun. And you shall ransom him, or else— Kent. What, Mortimer, you will not threaten him? Edw. Quiet yourself, you shall have the broad seal, To gather for him throughout the realm.

Lan. Your minion Gaveston hath taught you this.
Mort. jun. My Lord, the family of the Mortimers
Are not so poor, but would they sell their land,
Could levy men enough to anger you.

We never beg, but use such prayers as these.
Edw. Shall I still be haunted thus?

Mort. jun. Nay now you are here alone, I'll speak my

mind.

Lan. And so will I, and then my lord farewell.
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 harbor ride thy ships unrigg'd.

Lan. What foreign prince sends thee embassadors ?
Mort. Who loves thee but a sort of flatterers?

Lan.

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 he world:
I mean the peers, whom thou shouldst dearly love.
Libels are cast against thee in the street:

Ballads and rhimes 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, nor armor; and thyself
Bedaub'd with gold, rode laughing at the rest,
Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest,
Where womens' favors 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?

If

Mort. Wigmore12 shall fly to set my uncle free.
Lan. And when 'tis gone, our swords shall purchase

ye

more.

be mov'd, revenge it as you can; Look next to see us with our ensigns spread.

[Exeunt nobles. The king being deposed, surrenders his crown into the hands of the Bishop of Winchester, and the Earl of Leicester, at Killingworth Castle.

Lei. 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.

12 A principal Manor belonging to the Mortimers.

Edw.

Edw. Leister, 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 an 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