n Queen. Look, Lancaster, how passionate he is, And still his mind runs on his minion! Lan. My lord! Edw. How now, what news? is Gaveston arriv'd? Mort. jun. Nothing but Gaveston! what means your grace? You have matters of more weight to think upon; The king of France sets foot in Normandy. Edw. A trifle, we'll expel him when we please. Mort. A homely one, my lord, not worth the telling. Mort. jun. But seeing you are so desirous, thus it is: A lofty cedar-tree fair flourishing, On whose top-branches kingly eagles perch, And by the bark a canker creeps me up, And gets unto the highest bough of all: The motto, que tandem. Edw. And what is yours, my lord of Lancaster? Lan. My lord, mine's more obscure than Mortimer's. Pliny reports, there is a flying fish, Which all the other fishes deadly hate, And therefore being pursued, it takes the air No sooner is it up, but there's a fowl That seizeth it: this fish, my lord, I bear, The motto this; Undique mors est. Edmund. Proud Mortimer! ungentle Lancaster! Is this the love you bear your sovereign? Is this the fruit your reconcilement bears: And in your shields display your rancorous minds? Against the earl of Cornwal and my brother? Queen. Sweet husband, be content, they all love you. I am that cedar, shake me not too much; I have the gresses that will pull you down, And Eque tandem shall that canker cry, Unto the proudest peer of Britainy. Though thou compar'st him to a flying fish, And threat'nest death whether he rise or fall; "Tis not the hugest monster of the sea, Nor foulest harpy, that shall swallow him. 3 Mort. jun. If in his absence thus he favours him, What will he do when as he shall be present? Lan. That shall we see: look, where his lordship comes. Enter Gaveston. Edw. My Gaveston! welcome to Tinmouth! welcome to thy friend! Thy absence made me droop, and pine away; For as the lovers of fair Danaë, When she was lock'd up in a brazen tower, Gav. Sweet lord and king, your speech preventeth mine. br The shepherd nipt with biting winter's rage, The scene in which Edward resigns his crown, and that in which he is murdered, would have been sufficient to immortalize Marlowe, if he had not written another line. Few things grander or more touching in tragedy can be conceived, than those splendid scenes, from his being told that he must go to Killingworth; and his exclamation "Must! 'tis somewhat hard when kings must go" to the close of his existence. The circumstances are wrought up with great skill. His musing, on being required to resign his crown, that kings, when power is gone, are "But perfect shadowes in a sunshine day;" his identity of life itself, with the fruition of an earthly crown; his wish to be king till night; his adjuration, "Stand still, you watches of the elements," that he may still be England's king; his alternate grief and rage; his little bootless revenge; and his sad conviction, that death ends all, and he can die but once; could only have been produced by a first-rate genius. The king, being vanquished by the forces of the queen, seeks refuge in a monastery. He addresses the abbot: D "Edw. Father, thy face should harbour no deceit. That in our famous nurseries of arts But we, alas! are chas'd; and you, my friends,. Mortimer! who talks of Mortimer? Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer? The king's retreat is discovered, and a warrant for the apprehension of his favorites Spencer and Baldock, produced by the Earl of Leicester. "Edw. O day! the last of all my bliss on earth! Center of all misfortune! O my stars! Why do you low'r unkindly on a king? 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! Spen. jun. It may become thee yet, To let us take our farewell of his grace. Abbot. My heart with pity yearns to see this sight, A king to bear these words and proud commands. Edw. Spencer, sweet Spencer, thus then must we part? Edw. Nay, so will hell and cruel Mortimer; Bald. My lord, it is in vain to grieve or storm. Edw. In heav'n we may, in earth ne'er shall we meet : Leist. Your majesty must go to Killingworth. Edw. Must! 'tis somewhat hard, when kings must go. And hags howl for my death at Charon's shoar. Rice. My lord, be going, care not for these, For we shall see them shorter by the heads. Edw. Well, what shall be, shall be: part we must! Sweet Spencer, gentle Baldock, part we must! [Exeunt Edward and Leicester. Spen. jun. O is he gone! is noble Edward gone! Gone, gone, alas! never to make return. Bald. Spencer, I see our souls are fleeting hence; We are depriv'd the sunshine of our life: To die, sweet Spencer, therefore live we all; Enter the King, Leicester, with a Bishop, for the crown. Leic. Be patient, good my lord, cease to lament, Imagine Killingworth castle were your court, 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 outragious 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. For he's a lamb, encompassed by wolves, Which in a moment will abridge his life. But if proud Mortimer do wear this crown, 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? |