TheStationersRegister

Faire blowes the winde for Fraunce, blowe gentle gale,

Till Edmund be arrivde for Englands good,

Nature, yeeld to my countries cause in this.

A brother, no, a butcher of thy friends,

Proud Edward, doost thou banish me thy presence?

But ile to Fraunce, and cheere the wronged Queene,

And certifie what Edwards loosenes is.

Unnaturall king, to slaughter noble men

And cherish flatterers:

Mortimer I stay thy sweet escape,

Stand gratious gloomie night to his device.

Enter Mortimer disguised.

Holla, who walketh there, ist you my lord ?

Kent. Mortimer tis I,

But hath thy potion wrought so happilie?

It hath my lord, the warders all a sleepe,

I thanke them, gave me leave to passe in peace:

But hath your grace got shipping unto Fraunce?

Feare it not.

Exeunt

Act: 4 Scene: 2<<

Enter the Queene and her sonne.

A boye, our friends do faile us all in Fraunce,

The lords are cruell, and the king unkinde,

What shall we doe?

Madam, returne to England,

And please my father well, and then a Fig

For all my unckles frienship here in Fraunce.

I warrant you, ile winne his highnes quicklie,

A loves me better than a thousand Spencers.

A boye, thou art deceivde at least in this,

To thinke that we can yet be tun'd together,

No, no, we jarre too farre. Unkinde Valoys,

Unhappie Isabell, when Fraunce rejects,

whether, O whether doost thou bend thy steps?

Enter sir John of Henolt.

Madam, what cheere?

A good sir John of Henolt,

Never so cheereles, nor so farre distrest.

I heare sweete lady of the kings unkindenes,

But droope not madam, noble mindes contemne

Despaire: will your grace with me to Henolt,

And there stay times advantage with your sonne?

How say you my Lord, will you go with your friends,

And shake off all our fortunes equallie?

So pleaseth the Queene my mother, me it likes.

The king of England, nor the court of Fraunce,

Shall have me from my gratious mothers side,

Till I be strong enough to breake a staffe,

And then have at the proudest Spencers head.

Well said my lord.

Oh my sweet hart, how do I mone thy wrongs,

Yet triumphe in the hope of thee my joye?

Ah sweete sir John, even to the utmost verge

of Europe, or the shore of Tanaise,

Will we with thee to Henolt, so we will.

The Marques is a noble Gentleman,

His grace I dare presume will welcome me,

But who are these?

Enter Edmund [earle of Kent] and Mortimer.

Madam, long may you live,

Much happier then your friends in England do.

Lord Edmund and lord Mortimer alive?

Welcome to Fraunce: the newes was heere my lord,

That you were dead, or very neare your death.

Lady, the last was truest of the twaine,

But Mortimer reservde for better hap,

Hath shaken off the thraldome of the tower,

And lives t'advance your standard good my lord.

How meane you, and the king my father lives ?

No my lord Mortimer, not I, I trow.

Not sonne, why not? I would it were no worse,

But gentle lords, friendles we are in Fraunce.

Mounsier le Grand, a noble friend of yours,

Tould us at our arrivall all the newes,

How hard the nobles, how unkinde the king

Hath shewed himself: but madam, right makes roome,

Where weapons a want, and though a many friends

Are made away, as Warwick, Lancaster,

And others of our partie and faction,

Yet have we friends, assure your grace, in England

Would cast up cappes, and clap their hands for joy,

To see us there appointed for our foes.

Would all were well, and Edward well reclaimd,

For Englands honor, peace, and quietnes.

But by the sword, my lord, it must be deserv'd.

The king will nere forsake his flatterers.

My Lords of England, sith the ungentle king

Of Fraunce refuseth to give aide of armes,

To this distressed Queene his sister heere,

Go you with her to Henolt: doubt yee not,

We will finde comfort, money, men, and friends

Ere long, to bid the English king a base .

How say yong Prince, what thinke you of the match ?

I thinke king Edward will out-run us all.

Nay sonne, not so, and you must not discourage

Your friends that are so forward in your aide.

Sir John of Henolt, pardon us I pray,

These comforts that you give our wofull queene,

Binde us in kindenes all at your commaund.

Yea gentle brother, and the God of heaven,

Prosper your happie motion good sir John.

This noble gentleman, forward in armes,

Was borne I see to be our anchor hold.

Sir John of Henolt, be it thy renowne,

That Englands Queene, and nobles in distresse,

Have beene by thee restored and comforted.

Madam along, and you my lord , with me,

That Englands peeres may Henolts welcome see.

[Exeunt.]

Act: 4 Scene: 3<<

Enter the King, Arundell, the two Spencers, with others.

Thus after many threats of wrathfull warre, Triumpheth

Englands Edward with his friends,

And triumph Edward with his friends uncontrould.

My lord of Gloster, do you heare the newes ?

What newes my lord ?

Why man, they say there is great execution

Done through the realme, my lord of Arundell

You have the note, have you not?

Arundell

From the lieutenant of the tower my lord.

I pray let us see it, what have we there?

Read it Spencer. Spencerreads their names.

Why so, they barkt a pace a month agoe,

Now on my life, theile neither barke nor bite.

Now sirs, the newes from Fraunce. Gloster, I trowe

The lords of Fraunce love Englands gold so well,

As Isabella Isabell Q1-4, Dd1- gets no aide from thence.

What now remaines, have you proclaimed, my lord,

Reward for them can bring in Mortimer?

My lord, we have, and if he be in England,

A will be had ere long I doubt it not.

If, doost thou say? Spencer, as true as death,

He is in Englands ground, our port-maisters

Are not so careles of their kings commaund.

Enter a Poaste.

How now, what newes with thee, from whence come these ?

Post.

Letters my lord, and tidings foorth of Fraunce,

To you my lord of Gloster from Levune.

Reade.

Spencer reades the letter.

My dutie to your honor premised, &c. I have according to instruc- tions in that behalfe, dealt with the king of Fraunce his lords, and effected, that the Queene all discontented and discomforted, is gone,whither if you aske, with sir John of Henolt, brother to the Marquesse, into Flaunders: 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 battell in England, sooner then he can looke for them: this is all the newes of import. Your honors in all service, Levune.

A villaines, hath that Mortimer escapt?

With him is Edmund gone associate?

And will sir John of Henolt lead the round ?

Welcome a Gods name Madam and your sonne,

England shall welcome you, and all your route.

Gallop a pace bright Phoebus through the skie,

And duskie night, in rustie iron carre:

Betweene you both, shorten the time I pray,

That I may see that most desired day,

When we may meet these traitors in the field.

Ah nothing greeves me but my little boye,

Is thus misled to countenance their ils.

Come friends to Bristow, there to make us strong,

And windes as equall be to bring them in,

As you injurious were to beare them foorth.

[Exeunt.]

Act: 4 Scene: 4<<

Enter the Queene, her sonne, Edmund [earle of Kent], Mortimer, and sir John.

Now lords, our loving friends and countrimen,

Welcome to England all with prosperous windes,

Our kindest friends in Belgia have we left,

To cope with friends at home: a heavie case,

When force to force is knit, and sword and gleave

In civill broiles makes kin and country men

Slaughter themselves in others and their sides

With their owne weapons gorde, but whats the helpe?

Misgoverned kings are cause of all this wrack,

And Edward thou art one among them all,

Whose loosnes hath betrayed thy land to spoyle,

And made the channels overflow with blood,

Of thine own people patron shouldst thou be

But thou---

Nay madam, if you be a warriar,

Ye must not grow so passionate in speeches:

Lords, sith that we are by sufferance of heaven,

Arrivde and armed in this princes right,

Heere for our countries cause sweare we to him

All homage, fealtie and forwardnes,

And for the open wronges and injuries

Edward hath done to us, his Queene and land,

We come in armes to wrecke it with the sword:

That Englands queene in peace may reposesse

Her dignities and honors, and withall

We may remoove these flatterers from the king,

That havocks Englands wealth and treasurie.

Sound trumpets my lord and forward let us martch,

Edward will thinke we come to flatter him.

I would he never had bin flattered more.

[Exeunt.]

Act: 4 Scene: 5<<

Enter the King, Baldock, and Spencer the sonne, flying about the stage.

Fly, fly, my Lord, the Queene is over strong,

Her friends doe multiply and yours doe fayle,

Shape we our course to Ireland there to breath.

What, was I borne to flye and runne away,

And leave the Mortimers conquerers behind ?

Give me my horse and lets r'enforce our troupes:

And in this bed of honor die with fame.

Baldock

O no my lord, this princely resolution

Fits not the time, away, we are pursu'd.

[Exeunt.]

Act: 4 Scene: 6<<

[Enter] Edmund [earle of Kent] alone with a sword and target.

This way he fled, but I am come too late.

Edward, alas my hart relents for thee,

Proud traytor Mortimer why doost thou chase

Thy lawfull king thy soveraigne with thy sword ?

Vilde wretch, and why hast thou of all unkinde,

Borne armes against thy brother and thy king?

Raigne showers of vengeance on my cursed head

Thou God, to whom in justice it belongs

To punish this unnaturall revolt:

Edward, this Mortimer aimes at thy life:

O fly him then, but Edmund calme this rage,

Dissemble or thou diest, for Mortimer

And Isabell doe kisse while they conspire,

And yet she beares a face of love forsooth:

Fie on that love that hatcheth death and hate.

Edmund away, Bristow to Longshankes blood

Is false, be not found single for suspect:

Proud Mortimer pries neare into thy walkes.

Enter the Queene, Mortimer, the young Prince and Sir John of Henolt.

Succesfull battells gives the God of kings,

To them that fight in right and feare his wrath:

Since then succesfully we have prevayled,

Thankes be heavens great architect and you.

Ere farther we proceede my noble lordes,

We heere create our welbeloved sonne,

Of love and care unto his royall person,

Lord warden of the realme, and sith the fates

Have made his father so infortunate,

Deale you my lords in this, my loving lords,

As to your wisdomefittest seemes in all.

Madam, without offence if I may aske,

How will you deale with Edward in his fall?

Tell me good unckle, what Edward doe you meane?

Nephew, your father, I dare not call him king.

My lord of Kent, what needes these questions ?

Tis not in her controulment, nor in ours,

But as the realme and parlement shall please,

So shall your brother be disposed of.

I like not this relenting moode in Edmund,[To Queene.]

Madam, tis good to looke to him betimes.

My lord, the Maior of Bristow knows our mind.

Yea madam, and they scape not easilie,

That fled the feeld.

Baldock is with the king,

A goodly chauncelor, is he not my lord ?

So are the Spencers, the father and the sonne.

This, Edward, is the ruine of the realme.

[Aside.]Enter Rice ap Howell, and the Maior of Bristow, with Spencer the father.

God save Queene Isabell, and her princely sonne.

Madam, the Maior and Citizens of Bristow,

In signe of love and dutie to this presence,

Present by me this traitor to the state,

Spencer, the father to that wanton Spencer,

That like the lawles Catiline of Rome,

Reveld in Englands wealth and treasurie.

We thanke you all.

Your loving care in this,

Deserveth princelie favors and rewardes,

But wheres the king and the other Spencer fled?

Rice. Spencer the sonne, created earle of Gloster,

Is with that smoothe toongd scholler Baldock gone,

And shipt but late for Ireland with the king.

Some whirle winde fetche them backe, or sincke them all:---

[Aside.]

They shalbe started thence I doubt it not.

Shall I not see the king my father yet?

Unhappie Edward, chaste from Englands bounds.

[Aside.]

Madam, what resteth, why stand ye in a muse?

I rue my lords ill fortune, but alas,

Care of my countrie cald me to this warre.

Mortimer.

Madam, have done with care and sad complaint,

Your king hath wrongd your countrie and himselfe,

And we must seeke to right it as we may,

Meane while, have hence this rebell to the blocke,

Your lordship cannot priviledge your head.

Spencer pater

Rebell is he that fights against his prince,

So fought not they that fought in Edwards right.

Take him away, he prates. You Rice ap Howell,

[Spencer led off]

Shall do good service to her Majestie,

Being of countenance in your countrey here,

To follow these rebellious runnagates.

We in meane while madam, must take advise,

How Baldocke, Spencer, and their complices,

May in their fall be followed to their end.

Exeunt omnes

Act: 4 Scene: 7<<

Enter the Abbot, Monkes, Edward, Spencer, and Baldocke [disguised as monks].

Abbot

Have you no doubt my Lorde, have you no feare,

As silent and as carefull will we be,

To keepe your royall person safe with us,

Free from suspect, and fell invasion

Of such as have your majestie in chase,

Your selfe, and those your chosen companie,

As daunger of this stormie time requires.

Father, thy face should harbor no deceit,

O hadst thou ever beene a king, thy hart

Pierced deeply with sence of my distresse,

Could not but take compassion of my state.

Stately and proud, in riches and in traine,

Whilom I was, powerfull and full of pompe,

But what is he, whome rule and emperie

Have not in life or death made miserable?

Come Spencer, come Baldocke, come sit downe by me,

Make triall now of that philosophie,

That in Our famous nurseries of artes

Thou suckedst from Plato, and from Aristotle.

Father, this life contemplative is heaven,

O that I might this life in quiet lead,

But we alas are chaste, and you my friends,

Your lives and my dishonor they pursue,

Yet gentle monkes, for treasure, golde nor fee,

Do you betray us and our companie.

Monk

Your grace may sit secure, if none but wee

Doe wot of your abode.

Not one alive, but shrewdly I suspect,

A gloomie fellow in a meade belowe,

A gave a long looke after us my lord,

And all the land I know is up in armes,

Armes that pursue our lives with deadly hate.

Baldock

We were imbarkt for Ireland, wretched we,

With awkward windes, and sore tempests driven

To fall on shoare, and here to pine in feare

Of Mortimer and his confederates.

Edward. Mortimer, who talkes of Mortimer,

Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer

That bloudy man? good father on thy lap

Lay I this head, laden with mickle care,

O might I never open these eyes againe,

Never againe lift up this drooping head,

O never more lift up this dying hart!

Looke up my lord. Baldock, this drowsines

Betides no good, here even we are betraied.

Enter with Welch hookes, Rice ap Howell, a Mower, and the Earle of Leicester.

Mower

Upon my life, those be the men ye seeke.

Fellow enough: my lord I pray be short,

A faire commission warrants what we do.

Leister

The Queenes commission, urgd by Mortimer, [Aside.]

What cannot gallant Mortimer with the Queene?

Alas, see where he sits, and hopes unseene,

T'escape their hands that seeke to reave his life:

Too true it is, quem dies vidit veniens superbum,

Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem.

But Lecister leave to growe so passionate,

Spencer and Baldocke, by no other names,

I arrest you of high treason here,

Stand not on titles, but obay th'arrest,

Tis in the name of Isabell the Queene:

My lord, why droope you thus ?

O day! the last of all my blisse on earth,

Center of all misfortune. O my starres!

Why do you lowre unkindly on a king?

Comes Lecister then in Isabellas name,

To take my life, my companie from me?

Here man, rip up this panting brest of mine,

And take my heart, in reskew of my friends.

Away with them.

It may become thee yet,

To let us take our farewell of his grace.

Abbot

My heart with pittie earnes to see this sight,

A king to beare these words and proud commaunds.

Spencer,

A sweet Spencer, thus then must we part.

We must my lord, so will the angry heavens.

Nay so will hell, and cruell Mortimer,

The gentle heavens have not to do in this.

Baldock

My lord, it is in vaine to greeve or storme,

Here humblie of your grace we take our leaves,

Our lots are cast, I feare me so is thine.

In heaven wee may, in earth never shall wee meete, And

Lecister say, what shall become of us ?

Leister

Your majestie must go to Killingworth.

Must! tis somwhat hard, when kings must go.

Leister

Here is a Litter readie for your grace,

That waites your pleasure, and the day growes old.

As good be gon, as stay and be benighted.

A litter hast thou, lay me in a hearse,

And to the gates of hell convay me hence,

Let Plutos bels ring out my fatall knell,

And hags howle for my death at Charons shore,

For friends hath Edward none, but these, and these,

And these must die under a tyrants sword.

My lord, be going, care not for these,

For we shall see them shorter by the heads.

Well, that shalbe, shalbe: part we must,

Sweete Spencer, gentle Baldocke, part we must.

Hence fained weeds, unfained are my woes,

Father, farewell: Leister, thou staist for me,

And go I must, life farewell with my friends.

Exeunt Edward and Leicester.

O is he gone! is noble Edward gone,

Parted from hence, never to see us more!

Rent sphere of heaven, and fier forsake thy orbe,

Earth melt to ayre, gone is my soveraigne,

Gone, gone alas, never to make returne.

Baldock.

Spencer, I see our soules are fleeted hence,

We are deprivde the sun-shine of our life,

Make for a new life man, throw up thy eyes,

And hart and hand to heavens immortall throne,

Pay natures debt with cheerefull countenance,

Reduce we all our lessons unto this,

To die sweet Spencer, therefore live wee all,

Spencer, all live to die, and rise to fall.

Rice.

Come, come, keepe these preachments till you come to the place appointed. You, and such as you are, have made wise worke in England .

Will your Lordships away?

Mower

Your worship I trust will remember me?