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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Edward II

Act: 4 Scene: 7

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.

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.

Spencer,

A sweet Spencer, thus then must we part.

Nay so will hell, and cruell Mortimer,

The gentle heavens have not to do in this.

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

Lecister say, what shall become of us ?

Must! tis somwhat hard, when kings must go.

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.

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.