Edward the Second Part 2

_E. Mor._ What man of n.o.ble birth can brook this sight?

_Quam male conveniunt!--_ See, what a scornful look the peasant casts!

_Pem._ Can kingly lions fawn on creeping ants?

_War._ Ign.o.ble va.s.sal, that, like Phaeton, Aspir'st unto the guidance of the sun!

_Y. Mor._ Their downfall is at hand, their forces down: We will not thus be fac'd and over-peer'd.

_K. Edw._ Lay hands on that traitor Mortimer!

_E. Mor._ Lay hands on that traitor Gaveston!

_Kent._ Is this the duty that you owe your king?

_War._ We know our duties; let him know his peers.

_K. Edw._ Whither will you bear him? stay, or ye shall die.

_E. Mor._ We are no traitors; therefore threaten not.

_Gav._ No, threaten not, my lord, but pay them home.

Were I a king-- _Y. Mor._ Thou, villain! wherefore talk'st thou of a king, That hardly art a gentleman by birth?

_K. Edw._ Were he a peasant, being my minion, I'll make the proudest of you stoop to him.

_Lan._ My lord--you may not thus disparage us.-- Away, I say, with hateful Gaveston!

_E. Mor._ And with the Earl of Kent that favours him.

[_Attendants remove Gaveston and Kent._ _K. Edw._ Nay, then, lay violent hands upon your king: Here, Mortimer, sit thou in Edward's throne; Warwick and Lancaster, wear you my crown.

Was ever king thus over-rul'd as I?

_Lan._ Learn, then, to rule us better, and the realm.

_Y. Mor._ What we have done, our heart-blood shall maintain.

_War._ Think you that we can brook this upstart['s] pride?

_K. Edw._ Anger and wrathful fury stops my speech.

_Archb. of Cant._ Why are you not mov'd? be patient, my lord, And see what we your counsellors have done.

_Y. Mor._ My lords, now let us all be resolute, And either have our wills, or lose our lives.

_K. Edw._ Meet you for this, proud over-daring peers!

Ere my sweet Gaveston shall part from me, This isle shall fleet upon the ocean, And wander to the unfrequented Inde.

_Archb. of Cant._ You know that I am legate to the Pope: On your allegiance to the see of Rome, Subscribe, as we have done, to his exile.

_Y. Mor._ Curse him, if he refuse; and then may we Depose him, and elect another king.

_K. Edw._ Ay, there it goes! but yet I will not yield: Curse me, depose me, do the worst you can.

_Lan._ Then linger not, my lord, but do it straight.

_Archb. of Cant._ Remember how the bishop was abus'd: Either banish him that was the cause thereof, Or I will presently discharge these lords Of duty and allegiance due to thee.

_K. Edw._ It boots me not to threat; I must speak fair: The legate of the Pope will be obey'd.-- [_Aside._ My lord, you shall be Chancellor of the realm; Thou, Lancaster, High-Admiral of our fleet; Young Mortimer and his uncle shall be earls; And you, Lord Warwick, President of the North; And thou of Wales. If this content you not, Make several kingdoms of this monarchy, And share it equally amongst you all, So I may have some nook or corner left, To frolic with my dearest Gaveston.

_Archb. of Cant._ Nothing shall alter us; we are resolv'd.

_Lan._ Come, come, subscribe.

_Y. Mor._ Why should you love him whom the world hates so?

_K. Edw._ Because he loves me more than all the world.

Ah, none but rude and savage-minded men Would seek the ruin of my Gaveston!

You that be n.o.ble-born should pity him.

_War._ You that are princely-born should shake him off: For shame, subscribe, and let the lown depart.

_E. Mor._ Urge him, my lord.

_Archb. of Cant._ Are you content to banish him the realm?

_K. Edw._ I see I must, and therefore am content: Instead of ink, I'll write it with my tears. [_Subscribes._ _Y. Mor._ The king is love-sick for his minion.

_K. Edw._ 'Tis done: and now, accursed hand, fall off!

_Lan._ Give it me: I'll have it publish'd in the streets.

_Y. Mor._ I'll see him presently despatch'd away.

_Archb. of Cant._ Now is my heart at ease.

_War._ And so is mine.

_Pem._ This will be good news to the common sort.

_E. Mor._ Be it or no, he shall not linger here.

[_Exeunt all except King Edward._ _K. Edw._ How fast they run to banish him I love!

They would not stir, were it to do me good.

Why should a king be subject to a priest?

Proud Rome, that hatchest such imperial grooms, With these thy superst.i.tious taper-lights, Wherewith thy antichristian churches blaze, I'll fire thy crazed buildings, and enforce The papal towers to kiss the lowly ground, With slaughter'd priests make Tiber's channel swell, And banks rais'd higher with their sepulchres!

As for the peers, that back the clergy thus, If I be king, not one of them shall live.

_Re-enter_ GAVESTON.

_Gav._ My lord, I hear it whisper'd everywhere, That I am banish'd and must fly the land.

_K. Edw._ 'Tis true, sweet Gaveston: O were it false!

The legate of the Pope will have it so, And thou must hence, or I shall be depos'd.

But I will reign to be reveng'd of them; And therefore, sweet friend, take it patiently.

Live where thou wilt, I'll send thee gold enough; And long thou shalt not stay; or, if thou dost, I'll come to thee; my love shall ne'er decline.

_Gav._ Is all my hope turn'd to this h.e.l.l of grief?

_K. Edw._ Rend not my heart with thy too-piercing words: Thou from this land, I from myself am banish'd.

_Gav._ To go from hence grieves not poor Gaveston; But to forsake you, in whose gracious looks The blessedness of Gaveston remains; For nowhere else seeks he felicity.

_K. Edw._ And only this torments my wretched soul, That, whether I will or no, thou must depart.

Be governor of Ireland in my stead, And there abide till fortune call thee home.

Here, take my picture, and let me wear thine: [_They exchange pictures._ O, might I keep thee here, as I do this, Happy were I! but now most miserable.

_Gav._ 'Tis something to be pitied of a king.

_K. Edw._ Thou shalt not hence; I'll hide thee, Gaveston.

_Gav._ I shall be found, and then 'twill grieve me more.

_K. Edw._ Kind words and mutual talk makes our grief greater: Therefore, with dumb embracement, let us part, Stay, Gaveston; I cannot leave thee thus.

_Gav._ For every look, my love drops down a tear: Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow.

_K. Edw._ The time is little that thou hast to stay, And, therefore, give me leave to look my fill.

But, come, sweet friend; I'll bear thee on thy way.

_Gav._ The peers will frown.

_K. Edw._ I pa.s.s not for their anger. Come, let's go: O, that we might as well return as go!

_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA.

_Q. Isab._ Whither goes my lord?

_K. Edw._ Fawn not on me, French strumpet; get thee gone!

_Q. Isab._ On whom but on my husband should I fawn?

_Gav._ On Mortimer; with whom, ungentle queen,-- I judge no more--judge you the rest, my lord.

_Q. Isab._ In saying this, thou wrong'st me, Gaveston: Is't not enough that thou corrupt'st my lord, And art a bawd to his affections, But thou must call mine honour thus in question?

_Gav._ I mean not so; your grace must pardon me.

_K. Edw._ Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer, And by thy means is Gaveston exil'd: But I would wish thee reconcile the lords, Or thou shalt ne'er be reconcil'd to me.

_Q. Isab._ Your highness knows, it lies not in my power.

_K. Edw._ Away, then! touch me not.--Come, Gaveston.

_Q. Isab._ Villain, 'tis thou that robb'st me of my lord.

_Gav._ Madam, 'tis you that rob me of my lord.

_K. Edw._ Speak not unto her: let her droop and pine.

_Q. Isab._ Wherein, my lord, have I deserv'd these words?

Witness the tears that Isabella sheds, Witness this heart, that, sighing for thee, breaks, How dear my lord is to poor Isabel!

_K. Edw._ And witness heaven how dear thou art to me: There weep; for, till my Gaveston be repeal'd, a.s.sure thyself thou com'st not in my sight.

[_Exeunt King Edward and Gaveston._ _Q. Isab._ O miserable and distressed queen!

Would, when I left sweet France, and was embarked, That charming Circe, walking on the waves, Had chang'd my shape! or at the marriage-day The cup of Hymen had been full of poison!

Or with those arms, that twin'd about my neck, I had been stifled, and not liv'd to see The king my lord thus to abandon me!

Like frantic Juno, will I fill the earth With ghastly murmur of my sighs and cries; For never doted Jove on Ganymede So much as he on cursed Gaveston: But that will more exasperate his wrath; I must entreat him, I must speak him fair, And be a means to call home Gaveston: And yet he'll ever dote on Gaveston; And so am I for ever miserable.