The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Edward II

Act: 4 Scene: 3
Edward
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 ?
Edward
Why man, they say there is great execution
Done through the realme, my lord of Arundell
You have the note, have you not?
Edward
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?
Edward
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 ?
Edward
Reade.
Edward
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.
Act: 4 Scene: 5
Edward
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.
Act: 4 Scene: 7
Edward
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.
Edward
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.
Edward
Spencer,
A sweet Spencer, thus then must we part.
Edward
Nay so will hell, and cruell Mortimer,
The gentle heavens have not to do in this.
Edward
In heaven wee may, in earth never shall wee meete, And
Lecister say, what shall become of us ?
Edward
Must! tis somwhat hard, when kings must go.
Edward
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.
Edward
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.