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IV.

THE FALL OF EDWARD

THE SECOND

BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

The Barons summon the King to dismiss his unworthy favourites, especially Spencer, whom he has made Earl of Gloucester and Lord Chamberlain. On his refusing, they make war upon him. Finding their army too strong for him to fight, he tries to escape to Ireland, taking with him Spencer and an Oxford scholar, named Baldock, whom he also favoured. The wind is against them, and they are forced to land in Glamorganshire. They take refuge at the Abbey of Neath.

SCENE I. THE CAPTURE.

Enter the Abbot, Monks, Edward, Spencer, and Baldock. 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 invasión

Of such as have your majesty in chase,
Yourself and those your chosen company,
As danger of this stormy time requires.

King. Father, thy face should harbour no deceit.
Oh, hadst thou ever been a king, thy heart,
Pierced deeply with the 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, Spencer; 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;
Oh, that I might this life in quiet lead!
But we, alas, are chased, and you, my friends;

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Your lives and my dishonour they pursue.

Yet, gentle monks, for treasure, gold, or fee,
Do not betray us and our company.

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Monks. Your grace may sit secure, if none but we Do wot of your abode.

Spencer. 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,

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Arms that pursue our lives with deadly hate.

Baldock. We were embarked for Ireland, wretched we,

With awkward winds and sore tempests driven

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To fall on shore, and here to pine in fear

Of Mortimer and his confederates.

King. Mortimer! who talks of Mortimer?

Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer,

That bloody man? [To the Abbot] Good father, on thy lap

Lay I this head, laden with mickle care.
Oh, might I never ope these eyes again,
Never again lift up this drooping head,

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Oh, nevermore lift up this dying heart! [Falls asleep. Spencer. Look up, my lord. Baldock, this drowsiness Betides no good-[he gives a sudden start] here even we are betrayed!

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Enter, with Welsh hooks, Rice ap Howell, a Mower, the Earl of Leicester, and some Soldiers.

The Mower. 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.

Leicester. Alas, see where he sits, and hopes unseen To escape their hands that seek to reave his life. Spencer and Baldock, by no other names, I do arrest you of high treason here; Stand not on titles, but obey the arrest, 'Tis in the name of Isabel the Queen.

My lord, why droop you thus ?

King. O day, the last of all my bliss on earth, Centre of my misfortune! O my stars,

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Why do you lour unkindly on a king?

Comes Leicester then in Isabella's name

To take my life, my company, from me?

бо

Here, man, rip up this panting breast of mine,
And take my heart in rescue of my friends.
Rice. Away with them.

Spencer. It may become thee yet To let us take our farewell of his grace. Abbot. My heart with pity earns to see this sight; 65 A king to bear these words and proud commands ! King. Spencer, sweet Spencer, thus then must we part? Spencer. We must, my lord; so will the angry heavens. King. Nay, so will hell and cruel Mortimer; The gentle heavens have not to do in this.

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Baldock. 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.

King. In heaven we may, in earth never shall we meet ! And, Leicester, say, what shall become of us?

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Leicester. Your majesty must go to Killingworth. King. Must!'-it is somewhat hard when kings must go.

Leicester. 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. 80 King. A litter hast thou? lay me in a hearse, And to the gates of hell convey me hence. For friends hath Edward none, but these—and these[he breaks down]

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.

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King. Well, that shall be, shall be; part we must,
Sweet Spencer, gentle Baldock, part we must.
Hence, feigned weeds [he throws off his disguise]-un-
feigned are my woes.

Father, farewell!-Leicester, thou stay'st for me,
And go I'must'-life farewell, with my friends!

SCENE II. THE DEPOSITION.

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The King has been brought to Killingworth (or Kenilworth) Castle, the seat of the Earl of Leicester. The Earl of Leicester, the Bishop of Winchester, and Sir William Trussel there demand his abdication.

Leicester. 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.

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King. Leicester, if gentle words might comfort me, 5
Thy speeches long ago had eased my sorrows;
For kind and loving hast thou always been.
The griefs of private men are soon allayed,
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 gored,
He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw,
And highly scorning that the lowly earth
Should drink his blood, mounts up to the air.
And so it fares with me, whose dauntless mind
The ambitious Mortimer would seek to curb,
And that unnatural queen, false Isabel,

That thus hath pent and mewed me in a prison;
For such outrageous passions cloy my soul,
As, with the wings of rancour and disdain,
Full often am I soaring up to heaven
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 my 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 controlled by them,
By Mortimer, and my unconstant queen;
Whilst I am lodged 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?

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Bishop. Your grace mistakes; it is for England's good,

And princely Edward's right, we crave the crown.
King. 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,
Heavens turn it to a blaze of quenchless fire!
Or like the snaky wreath of Tisiphon,

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Engirt the temples of his hateful head;
So shall not England's vine be perished,
But Edward's name survives, though Edward dies.
Leicester, My lord, why waste you thus the time
away?

They stay your answer; will you yield your crown?
King. Ah, Leicester, weigh how hardly I can brook 50
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 murdered is.
But what the heavens appoint, I must obey!
Here take my crown; the life of Edward too;

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[He takes off the crown.

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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 wishèd crown.
Inhuman creatures, nursed 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.
[He puts on the crown.
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 martyrèd with endless torments,
And in this torment comfort find I none,
But that I feel the crown upon my head;
And therefore let me wear it yet awhile.

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Trussel. My lord, the parliament must have present

news,