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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Edward II

Act: 5 Scene: 2

Mother, perswade me not to weare the crowne,

Let him be king, I am too yong to raigne.

Let me but see him first, and then I will.

Why, is he dead ?

But hee repents, and sorrowes for it now.

With you I will, but not with Mortimer.

Helpe unckle Kent, Mortimer will wrong me.

Act: 5 Scene: 4

Champion, heeres to thee.

What hath he done?

My lord, he is my unckle, and shall live.

Sweete mother, if I cannot pardon him,

Intreate my lord Protector for his life.

Nor I, and yet me thinkes I should commaund,

But seeing I cannot, ile entreate for him:

My lord, if you will let my unckle live,

I will requite it when I come to age.

What safetie may I looke for at his hands,

If that my Unckle shall be murthered thus?

And shall my Unckle Edmund ride with us?

Act: 5 Scene: 6

Villaine.

Thinke not that I am frighted with thy words,

My father's murdered through thy treacherie,

And thou shalt die, and on his mournefull hearse,

Thy hatefull and accursed head shall lie,

To witnesse to the world, that by thy meanes,

His kingly body was too soone interrde.

Forbid not me to weepe, he was my father,

And had you lov'de him halfe so well as I,

You could not beare his death thus patiently,

But you I feare, conspirde with Mortimer.

Traitor, in me my loving father speakes,

And plainely saith, twas thou that murdredst him.

Yes, if this be the hand of Mortimer.

That thither thou didst send a murtherer.

A Mortimer, thou knowest that he is slaine,

And so shalt thou be too: why staies he heere?

Bring him unto a hurdle, drag him foorth,

Hang him I say, and set his quarters up,

But bring his head back presently to me.

Hence with the traitor, with the murderer.

What, suffer you the traitor to delay?

This argues, that you spilt my fathers bloud,

Els would you not intreate for Mortimer.

I, madam, you, for so the rumor runnes.

I doe not thinke her so unnaturall.

Mother, you are suspected for his death,

And therefore we commit you to the Tower,

Till further triall may be made thereof.

If you be guiltie, though I be your sonne,

Thinke not to finde me slack or pitifull.

Awaye with her, her wordes inforce these teares,

And I shall pitie her if she speake againe.

Goe fetche my fathers hearse, where it shall lie,

And bring my funerall robes: accursed head,

Could I have rulde thee then, as I do now,

Thou hadst not hatcht this monstrous treacherie!

[Enter some with hearse.]

Heere comes the hearse, helpe me to moorne, my lords:

Sweete father heere, unto thy murdered ghost,

I offer up this wicked traitors head,

And let these teares distilling from mine eyes,

Be witnesse of my greefe and innocencie.