TheStationersRegister

Mine unckle heere, this Earle, and I my selfe,

Were sworne to your father at his death,

That he should nere returne into the realme:

And know my lord, ere I will breake my oath,

This sword of mine that should offend your foes,

Shall sleepe within the scabberd at thy neede,

And underneath thy banners march who will,

For Mortimer will hang his armor up.

I cannot, nor I will not, I must speake.

Cosin, our hands I hope shall fence our heads,

And strike off his that makes you threaten us.

Come unckle, let us leave the brainsick king,

And henceforth parle with our naked swords.

Act: 1 Scene: 2

Lancaster

Wel, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure,

Unlesse his brest be sword proofe he shall die.

Wherfore is Guy of Warwicke discontent?

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.

Then wil you joine with us that be his peeres

To banish or behead that Gaveston?

Madam, whether whither walks your majestie so fast?

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.

Then may we lawfully revolt from him.

Content.

Madam farewell.

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

Act: 1 Scene: 4

The name of Mortimer shall fright the king,

Unlesse he be declinde from that base pesant.

Their downfall is at hand, their forces downe,

We will not thus be facst and overpeerd.

We are no traitors, therefore threaten not.

Thou villaine, wherfore talkes thou of a king,

That hardly art a gentleman by birth?

What we have done, our hart bloud shall maintaine.

My lords, now let us all be resolute,

And either have our wils, or lose our lives.

Curse him, if he refuse, and then may we

Depose him and elect an other king.

Why should you love him, whome the world hates so?

The king is love-sick for his minion.

Ile see him presently dispatched away.

Be it or no, he shall not linger here.

I know tis long of Gaveston she weepes.

Madam, how fares your grace?

Crie quittance Madam then, and love not him.

But madam, would you have us cal him home?

What, would ye have me plead for Gaveston?

Plead for him he that will, I am resolvde.

Faire Queene forbeare to angle for the fish,

Which being caught, strikes him that takes it dead,

I meane that vile Torpedo, Gaveston,

That now I hope flotes on the Irish seas.

It is impossible, but speake your minde.

Not I against my nephew.

Well of necessitie it must be so.

My Lords, that I abhorre base Gaveston,

I hope your honors make no question,

And therefore though I pleade for his repeall,

Tis not for his sake, but for our availe:

Nay, for the realms behoofe and for the kings.

My Lord of Lancaster, marke the respect.

Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead?

Why then my lord, give me but leave to speak.

To mend the king, and do our countrie good:

Know you not Gaveston hath store of golde,

Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends,

As he will front the mightiest of us all,

And whereas he shall live and be belovde,

Tis hard for us to worke his overthrow.

But were he here, detested as he is,

How easilie might some base slave be subbornd,

To greet his lordship with a poniard,

And none so much as blame the murtherer,

But rather praise him for that brave attempt,

And in the Chronicle, enrowle his name,

For purging of the realme of such a plague.

Because my lords, it was not thought upon:

Nay more, when he shall know it lies in us,

To banish him, and then to call him home,

Twill make him vaile the topflagof his pride,

And feare to offend the meanest noble man.

But how if he do not Nephew?

Then may we with some colour rise in armes,

For howsoever we have borne it out,

Tis treason to be up against the king.

So shall we have the people of our side,

Which for his fathers sake leane to the king,

But cannot brooke a night growne mushrump,

Such a one as my Lord of Cornewall is,

Should beare us downe of the nobilitie,

And when the commons and the nobles joyne,

Tis not the king can buckler Gaveston,

Weele pull him from the strongest hould he hath

My lords, if to performe this I be slack,

Thinke me as base a groome as Gaveston.

And I.

And Mortimer will rest at your commaund.

My lord, ile marshall so your enemies,

As England shall be quiet, and you safe.

Unckle, his wanton humor greeves not me,

But this I scorne, that one so baselie borne,

Should by his soveraignes favour grow so pert,

And riote it with the treasure of the realme,

While souldiers mutinie for want of paie.

He weares a lords revenewe on his back,

And Midas like he jets it in the court,

With base outlandish cullions at his heeles,

Whose proud fantastick liveries make such show,

As if that Proteus god of shapes appearde.

I have not seene a dapper jack so briske,

He weares a short Italian hooded cloake,

Larded with pearle, and in his tuskan cap

A jewell of more value then the crowne.

Whiles other walke below, the king and he

From out a window, laugh at such as we,

And floute our traine, and jest at our attire:

Unckle, tis this that makes me impatient.

Then so am I, and live to do him service,

But whiles I have a sword, a hand, a hart,

I will not yeeld to any such upstart.

You know my minde, come unckle lets away.

Act: 2 Scene: 2

Nothing but Gaveston, what means your grace?

You have matters of more waight to thinke upon,

The King of Fraunce sets foote in Normandie .

A homely one my lord, not worth the telling.

But seeing you are so desirous, thus it is:

A loftie Cedar tree faire flourishing,

On whose top-branches Kinglie Eagles pearch,

And by the barke a canker creepes me up,

And gets unto the highest bough of all,

The motto: Aeque tandem.

If in his absence thus he favors him,

What will he do when as he shall be present?

Welcome is the good Earle of Cornewall.

Villaine thy life, unlesse I misse mine aime.

No more then I would answere were he slaine.

Ile not be barde the court for Gaveston.

Moov'd may he be, and perish in his wrath.

By heaven, the abject villaine shall not live.

Letters, from whence?

My unckles taken prisoner by the Scots.

They rate his ransome at five thousand pound .

Who should defray the money, but the King,

Seeing he is taken prisoner in his warres?

Ile to the King.

About it then, and we will follow you.

Cosin, and if he will not ransome him,

Ile thunder such a peale into his eares,

As never subject did unto his King.

I marry, such a garde as this dooth well.

Whither else but to the King.

May we not?

Nay, stay my lord, I come to bring you newes,

Mine unckles taken prisoner by the Scots.

And you shall ransome him, or else--

My lord, the familie of the Mortimers

Are not so poore, but would they sell their land,

Would levie men enough to anger you.

We never beg, but use such praiers as these.

Nay, now you are heere alone, ile speake my minde.

The idle triumphes, maskes, lascivious showes

And prodigall gifts bestowed on Gaveston,

Have drawne thy treasure drie, and made thee weake,

The murmuring commons overstretched hath.

Lancaster. Looke for rebellion, looke to be deposde,

Thy garrisons are beaten out of Fraunce,

And lame and poore, lie groning at the gates,

The wilde Oneyle, with swarmes of Irish Kernes,

Lives uncontroulde within the English pale,

Unto the walles of Yorke the Scots made rode,

And unresisted, drave away riche spoiles.

The hautie Dane commands the narrow seas,

While in the harbor ride thy ships unrigd.

Who loves thee? but a sort of flatterers.

Thy court is naked, being bereft of those,

That makes a king seeme glorious to the world,

I meane the peeres, whom thou shouldst dearly love:

Libels are cast againe thee in the streete,

Ballads and rimes, made of thy overthrow.

When wert thou in the field with banner spred?

But once , and then thy souldiers marcht like players,

With garish robes, not armor, and thy selfe

Bedaubd with golde, rode laughing at the rest,

Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest,

Where womens favors hung like labels downe.

Wigmore shall flie, to set my unckle free.

Act: 2 Scene: 3

Stay Edmund, never was Plantagenet

False of his word, and therefore trust we thee.

Ile give the onset.

This tottered ensigne of my auncesters,

Which swept the desart shore of that dead sea,

Whereof we got the name of Mortimer,

Will I advaunce upon this castell walles,

Drums strike alarum, raise them from their sport,

And ring aloude the knell of Gaveston.

Act: 2 Scene: 4

Whose this, the Queene?

Cease to lament, and tell us wheres the king?

How comes it, that the king and he is parted ?

Heere in the river rides a Flemish hoie,

Lets all aboord, and follow him amaine.

Madam, stay you within this castell here.

Nay, rather saile with us to Scarborough.

Madam, I cannot stay to answer you,

But thinke of Mortimer as he deserves.

Act: 2 Scene: 5

Thou proud disturber of thy countries peace,

Corrupter of thy king, cause of these broiles,

Base flatterer, yeeld, and were it not for shame,

Shame and dishonour to a souldiers name,

Upon my weapons point here shouldst thou fall,

And welter in thy goare.

Shalt thou appoint

What we shall graunt? Souldiers away with him:

Thus weele gratifie the king,

Weele send his head by thee, let him bestow

His teares on that, for that is all he gets

of Gaveston, or else his sencelesse trunck.

It is honourable in thee to offer this,

But for we know thou art a noble gentleman,

We will not wrong thee so,

To make away a true man for a theefe.

Away base groome, robber of kings renowme,

Question with thy companions and thy mates.

How say you my lord of Warwick ?

My lord of Penbrooke, we deliver him you,

Returne him on your honor. Sound, away.

Act: 3 Scene: 1

Looke Lancaster,

Yonder is Edward among his flatterers.

No Edward, no, thy flatterers faint and flie.

Then Edward, thou wilt fight it to the last,

And rather bathe thy sword in subjects bloud,

Then banish that pernicious companie?

England, unkinde to thy nobilitie,

Grone for this greefe, behold how thou art maimed.

What Mortimer? can ragged stonie walles

Immure thy vertue that aspires to heaven?

No Edward, Englands scourge, it may not be,

Mortimers hope surmounts his fortune farre.

[Exit guarded.]

Act: 4 Scene: 1

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?

Act: 4 Scene: 2

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.

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.

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

The king will nere forsake his flatterers.

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.

Act: 4 Scene: 4

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.

Act: 4 Scene: 6

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.

Yea madam, and they scape not easilie,

That fled the feeld.

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.

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.

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.

Act: 5 Scene: 2

Faire Isabell now have we our desire,

The proud corrupters of the light-brainde king,

Have done their homage to the loftie gallowes,

And he himselfe lies in captivitie.

Be rulde by me, and we will rule the realme,

In any case, take heed of childish feare,

For now we hould an old Wolfe by the eares,

That if he slip will seaze upon us both,

And gripe the sorer being gript himselfe.

Thinke therefore madam that imports us much,

To erect your sonne with all the speed we may,

And that I be protector over him,

For our behoofe will beare the greater sway

When as a kings name shall be under writ.

First would I heare newes that hee were deposde,

And then let me alone to handle him.

Enter Messenger [and then Bishop of Winchester with the crown].

Letters from whence ?

Let me alone, here is the privie seale,

Whose there? call hither Gurney and Matrevis.

To dash the heavie headed Edmunds drift,

Bartley shall be dischargd, the king remoovde,

And none but we shall know where he lieth.

Speake, shall he presently be dispatch'd and die?

Inough.

Matrevis, write a letter presently

Unto the Lord of Bartley from our selfe,

That he resigne the king to thee and Gurney,

And when tis done, we will subscribe our name.

Gurney.

As thou intendest to rise by Mortimer,

Who now makes Fortunes wheele turne as he please,

Seeke all the meanes thou canst to make him droope,

And neither give him kinde word, nor good looke.

And this above the rest, because we heare

That Edmund casts to worke his libertie,

Remoove him still from place to place by night,

Till at the last, he come to Killingworth,

And then from thence to Bartley back againe:

And by the way to make him fret the more,

Speake curstlie to him, and in any case

Let no man comfort him, if he chaunce to weepe,

But amplifie his greefe with bitter words.

So now away, post thither wards amaine.

Finely dissembled, do so still sweet Queene.

Heere comes the yong prince, with the Earle of Kent.

If he have such accesse unto the prince,

Our plots and stratagems will soone be dasht.

How fares my honorable lord of Kent?

And mine.

Thou being his unckle, and the next of bloud,

Doe looke to be protector over the prince?

Inconstant Edmund, doost thou favor him,

That wast a cause of his imprisonment?

I tell thee tis not meet, that one so false

Should come about the person of a prince.

My lord, he hath betraied the king his brother,

And therefore trust him not.

Why yongling, s'dainst thou so of Mortimer?

Then I will carrie thee by force away.

Act: 5 Scene: 4

The king must die, or Mortimer goes downe,

The commons now begin to pitie him,

Yet he that is the cause of Edwards death,

Is sure to pay for it when his sonne is of age,

And therefore will I do it cunninglie.

This letter written by a friend of ours,

Containes his death, yet bids them save his life.

Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est.

Feare not to kill the king tis good he die.

But read it thus, and thats an other sence:

Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est.

Kill not the king tis good to feare the worst.

Unpointed as it is, thus shall it goe,

That being dead, if it chaunce to be found,

Matrevis and the rest may beare the blame,

And we be quit that causde it to be done:

Within this roome is lockt the messenger,

That shall conveie it, and performe the rest,

And by a secret token that he beares,

Shall he be murdered when the deed is done.

Lightborn, Come forth.

[Enter Lightborn.]

Art thou as resolute as thou wast ?

And hast thou cast how to accomplish it?

But at his lookes Lightborne thou wilt relent.

Well, do it bravely, and be secret.

Whats that?

I care not how it is, so it be not spide:

Deliver this to Gurney and Matrevis,

At every ten miles end thou hast a horse.

Take this, away, and never see me more.

No,

Unlesse thou bring me newes of Edwards death.

The prince I rule, the queene do I commaund,

And with a lowly conge to the ground,

The proudest lords salute me as I passe,

I seale, I cancell, I do what I will,

Feard am I more then lov'd, let me be feard,

And when I frowne, make all the court looke pale,

I view the prince with Aristarchus eyes,

Whose lookes were as a breeching to a boye.

They thrust upon me the Protectorship,

And sue to me for that that I desire,

While at the councell table, grave enough,

And not unlike a bashfull puretaine,

First I complaine of imbecilitie,

Saying it is, onus quam gravissimum,

Till being interrupted by my friends,

Suscepi that provinciam as they terme it,

And to conclude, I am Protector now,

Now is all sure, the Queene and Mortimer

Shall rule the realme, the king, and none rule us,

Mine enemies will I plague, my friends advance,

And what I list commaund, who dare controwle?

Major sum quam cui possitfortuna nocere.

And that this be the coronation day,

It pleaseth me, and Isabell the Queene.

The trumpets sound, I must go take my place.

None comes, sound trumpets.

What traitor have wee there with blades and billes?

Did you attempt his rescue, Edmund speake?

Strike off his head, he shall have marshall lawe.

My lord, he is your enemie, and shall die.

Tis for your highnesse good, and for the realmes.

How often shall I bid you beare him hence? [To Souldiers.]

At our commaund, once more away with him.

Act: 5 Scene: 6

Ist done, Matrevis, and the murtherer dead?

Matrevis, if thou now growest penitent

Ile be thy ghostly father, therefore choose,

whether thou wilt be secret in this,

Or else die by the hand of Mortimer.

Flie to the Savages.

As for my selfe, I stand as Joves huge tree,

And others are but shrubs compard to me,

All tremble at my name, and I feare none,

Lets see who dare impeache me for his death ?

What if he have? the king is yet a childe.

How now my lord ?

Because I thinke scorne to be accusde,

Who is the man dare say I murdered him?

But hath your grace no other proofe then this ?

False Gurney hath betraide me and himselfe.

Tis my hand, what gather you by this.

What murtherer? bring foorth the man I sent.

Madam, intreat not, I will rather die,

Then sue for life unto a paltrie boye.