The Works of Christopher Marlowe - LightNovelsOnl.com
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_Mes._ Letters, my lord, and tidings forth of France, To you, my lord of Gloucester, from Levune.
_Edw._ Read. [SPENCER _reads the letter._]
"_My duty to your honour premised, &c., I have, according to instructions in that behalf, dealt with the King of France 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." 36
_Edw._ Ah, villains! hath that Mortimer escaped?
With him is Edmund gone a.s.sociate?
And will Sir John of Hainault lead the round?
Welcome, a G.o.d's name, madam, and your son; 40 England shall welcome you and all your rout.
Gallop apace[287] bright Phoebus, 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 those 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, 50 As you injurious were to bear them forth!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_[288] _the_ QUEEN, _her_ Son, KENT, MORTIMER, _and_ SIR JOHN HAINAULT.
_Queen._ 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 gored! But what's the help?
Misgoverned kings are cause of all this wreck; And, Edward, thou art one among them all, 10 Whose looseness hath betrayed thy land to spoil, Who made the channel[289] 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 pa.s.sionate in speeches.
Lords, Sith that we are by sufferance of heaven Arrived, and armed in this prince's right, Here for our country's cause swear we to him 20 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 wreak 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 havoc England's wealth and treasury.
_Sir. J._ Sound trumpets, my lord, and forward let us march.
Edward will think we come to flatter him. 30
_Kent._ I would he never had been flattered more!
[_Exeunt._
SCENE V.
_Enter_[290] _the_ KING, BALDOCK, _and_ YOUNG SPENCER, _flying about the stage._
_Y. Spen._ Fly, fly, my lord! the queen is over-strong; Her friends do multiply, and yours do fail.
Shape we our course to Ireland, there to breathe.
_Edw._ What! was I born to fly and run away, And leave the Mortimers conquerors behind?
Give me my horse, and let's re'nforce 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 pursued. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ KENT _alone, with his sword and target._
_Kent._ This way he fled, but I am come too late. 10 Edward, alas! my heart relents for thee.
Proud traitor, Mortimer, why dost thou chase Thy lawful king, thy sovereign, with thy sword?
Vild 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 G.o.d, 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, 20 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 unto thy walks.
_Enter the_ QUEEN, MORTIMER, _the_ Young Prince, _and_ SIR JOHN OF HAINAULT.
_Queen._ Successful[291] battle gives the G.o.d of kings To them that fight in right, and fear his wrath.
Since then successfully we have prevailed, 30 Thanked be heaven's great architect, and you.
Ere farther we proceed, my n.o.ble 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? 40
_Prince._ Tell me, good uncle, what Edward do you mean?
_Kent._ Nephew, your father: I dare not call him king.
_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.
_Queen._ My lord, the Mayor of Bristow knows our mind.
_Y. Mor._ Yea, madam, and they scape not easily 50 That fled the field.
_Queen._ Baldock is with the king.
A goodly chancellor, is he not, my lord?
_Sir J._ So are the Spencers, the father and the son.
_Kent._[292] This Edward is the ruin of the realm.
_Enter_ RICE AP HOWELL, _and the_ MAYOR OF BRISTOW, _with_ OLD SPENCER _prisoner._
_Rice._ G.o.d 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, Spencer, the father to that wanton Spencer, That, like the lawless Catiline of Rome, 60 Revelled in England's wealth and treasury.
_Queen._ We thank you all.
_Y. Mor._ Your loving care in this Deserveth princely favours and rewards.
But where's the king and the other Spencer fled?
_Rice._ Spencer the son, created Earl of Gloucester, Is with that smooth-tongued scholar Baldock gone, And s.h.i.+pped 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.
_Prince._ Shall I not see the king my father yet? 70
