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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Edward II

Act: 1 Scene: 2- -

Enter both the Mortimers, Warwicke , and Lancaster .

Warwicke

Tis true, the Bishop is in the tower,

And goods and body given to Gaveston.

Lancaster

What? will they tyrannize upon the Church?

Ah wicked king, accurssed Gaveston,

This ground which is corrupted with their steps,

Shall be their timeles sepulcher, or mine.

Mortimer

Lancaster

Wel, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure,

Unlesse his brest be sword proofe he shall die.

Mortimer senior

How now, why droops the earle of Lancaster ?

Mortimer

Wherfore is Guy of Warwicke discontent?

Lancaster

That villaine Gaveston is made an Earle.

Mortimer senior

An Earle!

Warwicke

I, and besides, lord Chamberlaine of the realme,

And secretary to, and lord of Man.

Mortimer senior

We may not, nor we will not suffer this. Mortimer.

Why post we not from hence to levie men?

Lancaster

My lord of Cornewall now, at every worde,

And happie is the man, whom he vouchsafes

For vailing of his bonnet one good looke.

Thus arme in arme, the king and he dooth marche:

Nay more, the guarde upon his lordship waites:

And all the court begins to flatter him.

Warwicke

Thus leaning on the shoulder of the king,

He nods, and scornes, and smiles at those that passe.

Mortimer senior

Doth no man take exceptions at the slave?

Lancaster

All stomack him, but none dare speake a word.

Mortimer

Ah that bewraies their basenes Lancaster,

Were all the Earles and Barons of my minde,

Weele hale him from the bosome of the king,

And at the court gate hang the pessant up,

Who swolne with venome of ambitious pride,

Will be the ruine of the realme and us.

Enter the [Arch] Bishop of Canterburie [and attendant].

Warwicke

Here comes my lord of Canterburies grace.

Lancaster

His countenance bewraies he is displeasd.

Bishop

First were his sacred garments rent and torne,

Then laide they violent hands upon him, next

Himselfe imprisoned, and his goods asceasd,

This certifie the Pope, away, take horsse.

[Exit attendant.]

Lancaster

My lord, will you take armes against the king?

Bishop

What neede I, God himselfe is up in armes,

When violence is offered to the church.

Mortimer

Then wil you joine with us that be his peeres

To banish or behead that Gaveston?

Bishop

What els my lords, for it concernes me neere,

The Bishoprick of Coventrie is his.

Enter the Queene.

Mortimer

Madam, whether whither walks your majestie so fast?

Queen

Unto the forrest gentle Mortimer,

To live in greefe and balefull discontent,

For now my lord the king regardes me not,

But dotes upon the love of Gaveston.

He claps his cheekes, and hanges about his neck,

Smiles in his face, and whispers in his eares,

And when I come, he frownes, as who should say,

Go whether whither thou wilt seeing I have Gaveston.

Mortimer senior

Is it not straunge, that he is thus bewitcht?

Mortimer

Madam, returne unto the court againe:

That slie inveigling Frenchman weele exile,

Or lose our lives: and yet ere that day come,

The king shall lose his crowne, for we have power,

And courage to, to be revengde at full.

Bishop

But yet lift not your swords against the king.

Lancaster

No, but weele lift Gaveston from hence.

Warwicke

And war must be the meanes, or heele stay stil.

Queene

Then let him stay, for rather then my lord

Shall be opprest by civill mutinies,

I wil endure a melancholie life,

And let him frollick with his minion.

Bishop

My lords, to eaze all this, but heare me speake.

We and the rest that are his counsellers,

Will meete, and with a generall consent,

Confirme his banishment with our handes and seales.

Lancaster

What we confirme the king will frustrate.

Mortimer

Then may we lawfully revolt from him.

Warwicke

But say my lord, where shall this meeting bee?

Bishop

At the new temple.

Mortimer

Content.

Bishop

And in the meane time ile intreat you all,

To crosse to Lambeth, and there stay with me.

Lancaster

Come then lets away.

Mortimer

Madam farewell.

Queene

Farewell sweet Mortimer, and for my sake,

Forbeare to levie armes against the king.

Mortimer

I, if words will serve, if not, I must.

[Exeunt.]

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