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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Edward II

Act: 2 Scene: 2

Look Lancaster how passionate he is,

And still his minde runs on his minion.

Sweete husband be content, they all love you.

Aye me poore soule when these begin to jarre.

Ah furious Mortimer what hast thou done?

My lord, tis thought, the Earles are up in armes.

Thus do you still suspect me without cause.

Your pardon is quicklie got of Isabell.

Act: 2 Scene: 4

No farewell, to poore Isabell, thy 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.

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.

What would you with the king, ist him you seek?

Hees gone by water unto Scarborough,

Pursue him quicklie, and he cannot scape,

The king hath left him, and his traine is small.

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.

No Mortimer, ile to my lord the king.

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.

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.