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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Edward II

Act: 1 Scene: 4

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

Were I a king---

My lord I heare it whispered every where,

That I am banishd, and must flie the land.

Is all my hope turnd to this hell of greefe.

To go from hence, greeves not poore Gaveston,

But to forsake you, in whose gratious lookes

The blessednes of Gaveston remaines,

For no where else seekes he felicitie.

Tis something to be pitied of a king.

I shal be found, and then twil greeve me more.

For every looke, my lord , drops downe a teare,

Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow.

The peeres will frowne.

On Mortimer, with whom ungentle Queen—

I say no more, judge you the rest my lord.

I meane not so, your grace must pardon me.

Madam, tis you that rob me of my lord.