The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Edward II

Act: 1 Scene: 2
Queen
Unto the forrest gentle Mortimer,
To live in greefe and balefull discontent,
For now my lord the king regardes me not,
But dotes upon the love of Gaveston.
He claps his cheekes, and hanges about his neck,
Smiles in his face, and whispers in his eares,
And when I come, he frownes, as who should say,
Go whether whither thou wilt seeing I have Gaveston.
Queene
Then let him stay, for rather then my lord
Shall be opprest by civill mutinies,
I wil endure a melancholie life,
And let him frollick with his minion.
Queene
Farewell sweet Mortimer, and for my sake,
Forbeare to levie armes against the king.
Act: 1 Scene: 4
Queene
whether goes my lord?
Queene
On whom but on my husband should I fawne?
Queene
In saying this, thou wrongst me Gaveston,
Ist not enough, that thou corrupts my lord,
And art a bawd to his affections,
But thou must call mine honor thus in question?
Queene
Your highnes knowes, it lies not in my power.
Queene
Villaine, tis thou that robst me of my lord.
Queene
Wherein my lord, have I deservd these words?
Witnesse the teares that Isabella sheds,
Witnesse this hart, that sighing for thee breakes,
How deare my lord is to poore Isabell.
Queene
O miserable and distressed Queene!
Would when I left sweet France and was imbarkt,
That charming Circes walking on the waves,
Had chaungd my shape, or at the mariage day
The cup of Hymen had beene full of poyson,
Or with those armes that twind about my neck,
I had beene stifled, and not lived to see,
The king my lord thus to abandon me:
Like frantick Juno will I fill the earth,
With gastlie murmure of my sighes and cries,
For never doted Jove on Ganimed,
So much as he on cursed Gaveston .
But that will more exasperate his wrath,
I must entreat him, I must speake him faire,
And be a meanes to call home Gaveston:
And yet heele ever dote on Gaveston,
And so am I for ever miserable.
Queene
Ah Mortimer now breaks the kings hate forth,
And he confesseth that he loves me not.
Queene
No, rather will I die a thousand deaths,
And yet I love in vaine, heele nere love me.
Queene
O never Lancaster! I am injoynde,
To sue unto you all for his repeale:
This wils my lord, and this must I performe,
Or else be banisht from his highnesse presence.
Queene
I Mortimer, for till he be restorde,
The angrie king hath banished me the court:
And therefore as thou lovest and tendrest me,
Be thou my advocate unto these peeres.
Queene
O Lancaster, let him diswade the king,
For tis against my will he should returne
Queene
Tis for my selfe I speake, and not for him.
Queene
Sweete Mortimer, sit downe by me a while,
And I will tell thee reasons of such waighte,
As thou wilt soone subscribe to his repeale.
Queene
Then thus, but none shal heare it but our selves.
Queene
Yet good my lord, heare what he can alledge.
Queene
And when this favour Isabell forgets,
Then let her live abandond and forlorne.
But see in happie time, my lord the king,
Having brought the Earle of Cornewall on his way,
Is new returnd, this newes will glad him much,
Yet not so much as me. I love him more
Then he can Gaveston, would he lov'd me
But halfe so much, then were I treble blest.
Queene
Harke how he harpes upon his minion.
Queene
My gratious lord, I come to bring you newes.
Queene
That Gaveston ,my Lord,shalbe repeald.
Queene
But will you love me, if you finde it so?
Queene
For Gaveston, but not for Isabell.
Queene
No other jewels hang about my neck
Then these my lord, nor let me have more wealth,
Then I may fetch from this ritch treasurie:
O how a kisse revives poore Isabell.
Queene
And may it proove more happie then the first.
My gentle lord, bespeake these nobles faire,
That waite attendance for a gratious looke,
And on their knees salute your majestie
Queene
Now is the king of England riche and strong,
Having the love of his renowned peeres.
Act: 2 Scene: 2
Queene
Look Lancaster how passionate he is,
And still his minde runs on his minion.
Queene
Sweete husband be content, they all love you.
Queene
Aye me poore soule when these begin to jarre.
Queene
Ah furious Mortimer what hast thou done?
Queene
My lord, tis thought, the Earles are up in armes.
Queene
Thus do you still suspect me without cause.
Queene
Your pardon is quicklie got of Isabell.
Act: 2 Scene: 4
Queene
No farewell, to poore Isabell, thy Queene?
Queene
Heavens can witnesse, I love none but you.
From my imbracements thus he breakes away,
O that mine armes could close this Ile about,
That I might pull him to me where I would,
Or that these teares that drissell from mine eyes,
Had power to mollifie his stonie hart,
That when I had him we might never part.
Queene
I Mortimer, the miserable Queene,
Whose pining heart, her inward sighes have blasted,
And body with continuall moorning wasted:
These hands are tir'd, with haling of my lord
From Gaveston, from wicked Gaveston,
And all in vaine, for when I speake him faire,
He turnes away, and smiles upon his minion.
Queene
What would you with the king, ist him you seek?
Queene
Hees gone by water unto Scarborough,
Pursue him quicklie, and he cannot scape,
The king hath left him, and his traine is small.
Queene
That this your armie going severall waies,
Might be of lesser force, and with the power
That he intendeth presentlie to raise,
Be easilie supprest: and therefore be gone.
Queene
No Mortimer, ile to my lord the king.
Queene
You know the king is so suspitious,
As if he heare I have but talkt with you,
Mine honour will be cald in question,
And therefore gentle Mortimer be gone.
Queene
So well hast thou deserv'de sweete Mortimer,
As Isabell could live with thee for ever,
In vaine I looke for love at Edwards hand,
Whose eyes are fixt on none but Gaveston:
Yet once more ile importune him with praiers,
If he be straunge and not regarde my wordes,
My sonne and I will over into France,
And to the king my brother there complaine,
How Gaveston hath robd me of his love:
But yet I hope my sorrowes will have end,
And Gaveston this blessed day be slaine.
Act: 3 Scene: 1
Queene
Newes of dishonor lord, and discontent,
Our friend Levune, faithfull and full of trust,
Informeth us, by letters and by words,
That lord Valoyes our brother, king of Fraunce,
Because your highnesse hath beene slack in homage,
Hath seazed Normandie into his hands.
These be the letters, this the messenger.
Queene
A boye, this towardnes makes thy mother feare
Thou art not markt to many daies on earth.
Queene
Unnatural wars, where subjects brave their king,
God end them once, my lord I take my leave,
To make my preparation for Fraunce.
Act: 4 Scene: 2
Queene
A boye, our friends do faile us all in Fraunce,
The lords are cruell, and the king unkinde,
What shall we doe?
Queene
A boye, thou art deceivde at least in this,
To thinke that we can yet be tun'd together,
No, no, we jarre too farre. Unkinde Valoys,
Unhappie Isabell, when Fraunce rejects,
whether, O whether doost thou bend thy steps?
Queene
A good sir John of Henolt,
Never so cheereles, nor so farre distrest.
Queene
Oh my sweet hart, how do I mone thy wrongs,
Yet triumphe in the hope of thee my joye?
Ah sweete sir John, even to the utmost verge
of Europe, or the shore of Tanaise,
Will we with thee to Henolt, so we will.
The Marques is a noble Gentleman,
His grace I dare presume will welcome me,
But who are these?
Queene
Lord Edmund and lord Mortimer alive?
Welcome to Fraunce: the newes was heere my lord,
That you were dead, or very neare your death.
Queene
Not sonne, why not? I would it were no worse,
But gentle lords, friendles we are in Fraunce.
Queene
Nay sonne, not so, and you must not discourage
Your friends that are so forward in your aide.
Queene
Yea gentle brother, and the God of heaven,
Prosper your happie motion good sir John.
Act: 4 Scene: 4
Queene
Now lords, our loving friends and countrimen,
Welcome to England all with prosperous windes,
Our kindest friends in Belgia have we left,
To cope with friends at home: a heavie case,
When force to force is knit, and sword and gleave
In civill broiles makes kin and country men
Slaughter themselves in others and their sides
With their owne weapons gorde, but whats the helpe?
Misgoverned kings are cause of all this wrack,
And Edward thou art one among them all,
Whose loosnes hath betrayed thy land to spoyle,
And made the channels overflow with blood,
Of thine own people patron shouldst thou be
But thou---
Act: 4 Scene: 6
Queene
Succesfull battells gives the God of kings,
To them that fight in right and feare his wrath:
Since then succesfully we have prevayled,
Thankes be heavens great architect and you.
Ere farther we proceede my noble lordes,
We heere create our welbeloved sonne,
Of love and care unto his royall person,
Lord warden of the realme, and sith the fates
Have made his father so infortunate,
Deale you my lords in this, my loving lords,
As to your wisdomefittest seemes in all.
Queene
My lord, the Maior of Bristow knows our mind.
Queene
Baldock is with the king,
A goodly chauncelor, is he not my lord ?
Queene
We thanke you all.
Queene
I rue my lords ill fortune, but alas,
Care of my countrie cald me to this warre.
Act: 5 Scene: 2
Queene
Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabell
Be thou perswaded, that I love thee well,
And therefore so the prince my sonne be safe,
Whome I esteeme as deare as these mine eyes,
Conclude against his father what thou wilt,
And I my selfe will willinglie subscribe.
Queene
How fares my lord the king ?
Queene
Alas poore soule, would I could ease his greefe.
Thankes gentle Winchester: sirra, be gon.
Queene
O happie newes, send for the prince my sonne.
Queene
Then let some other be his guardian.
Queene
But Mortimer, as long as he survives
What safetie rests for us, or for my sonne?
Queen
I would hee were, so it ere not by my meanes.
Queene
Whither goes this letter, to my lord the king?
Commend me humblie to his Majestie,
And tell him, that I labour all in vaine,
To ease his greefe, and worke his libertie:
And beare him this, as witnesse of my love.
Queene
Some thing he whispers in his childish eares.
Queene
Use Edmund friendly, as if all were well.
Queene
Well, if my Lorde your brother were enlargde.
Queene
The more my greefe.
Queene
Sweete sonne come hither, I must talke with thee.
Queene
But bee content, seeing it his highnesse pleasure.
Queene
Brother, you know it is impossible.
Queene
No, God forbid.
Queene
Come sonne, and go with this gentle Lorde and me.
Queene
Brother Edmund, strive not, we are his friends,
Isabell is neerer then the earle of Kent.
Queene.
Edward is my sonne, and I will keepe him. [Is going off]
Act: 5 Scene: 4
Queene
Lord Mortimer, now take him to your charge.
Queene
Sonne, be content, I dare not speake a worde.
Queene
Feare not sweete boye, ile garde thee from thy foes,
Had Edmund liv'de, he would have sought thy death.
Come sonne, weele ride a hunting in the parke.
Queene
He is a traitor, thinke not on him, come.
Act: 5 Scene: 6
Queene
A Mortimer, the king my sonne hath news,
His fathers dead, and we have murdered him.
Queene
I, I, but he teares his haire, and wrings his handes,
And vowes to be revengd upon us both,
Into the councell chamber he is gone,
To crave the aide and succour of his peeres.
Aye me, see where he comes, and they with him,
Now Mortimer begins our tragedie.
Queene
Weepe not sweete sonne.
Queene
I feard as much, murther cannot be hid.
Queene
For my sake sweete sonne pittie Mortimer.
Queene
As thou receivedst thy life from me,
Spill not the bloud of gentle Mortimer.
Queene
I spill his bloud ? no.
Queene
That rumor is untrue, for loving thee,
Is this report raisde on poore Isabell.
Queene
Nay, to my death, for too long have I lived,
When as my sonne thinkes to abridge my daies.
Queene
Shall I not moorne for my beloved lord,
And with the rest accompanie him to his grave?
Queene
He hath forgotten me, stay, I am his mother.
Queene
Then come sweete death, and rid me of this greefe.