The Works of Christopher Marlowe Volume II Part 29

_Edw._ Speak not unto her; let her droop and pine.

_Queen._ Wherein, my lord, have I deserved these words?

Witness the tears that Isabella sheds, Witness this heart, that sighing for thee, breaks, How dear my lord is to poor Isabel.

_Edw._ And witness heaven how dear thou art to me: There weep: for till my Gaveston be repealed, a.s.sure thyself thou com'st not in my sight.

[_Exeunt_ EDWARD _and_ GAVESTON.

_Queen._ O miserable and distressed queen! 170 Would, when I left sweet France and was embarked, That charming Circe[202] walking on the waves, Had changed my shape, or at[203] the marriage-day The cup of Hymen had been full of poison, Or with those arms that twined about my neck I had been stifled, and not lived to see The king my lord thus to abandon me!

Like frantic Juno will I fill the earth With ghastly murmur of my sighs and cries; For never doated Jove on Ganymede 180 So much as he on cursed Gaveston: But that will more exasperate his wrath: I must entreat him, I must speak him fair, And be a means to call home Gaveston: And yet he'll ever doat on Gaveston: And so am I for ever miserable.

_Enter the_ n.o.bles.

_Lan._ Look where the sister of the king of France Sits wringing of her hands, and beats her breast!

_War._ The king, I fear, hath ill-entreated her.

_Pem._ Hard is the heart that injuries[204] such a saint. 190

_Y. Mor._ I know 'tis 'long of Gavestone she weeps.

_E. Mor._ Why, he is gone.

_Y. Mor._ Madam, how fares your grace?

_Queen._ Ah, Mortimer! now breaks the king's hate forth, And he confesseth that he loves me not.

_Y. Mor._ Cry quittance, madam, then; and love not him.

_Queen._ No, rather will I die a thousand deaths: And yet I love in vain--he'll ne'er love me.

_Lan._ Fear ye not, madam; now his minion's gone, His wanton humour will be quickly left.

_Queen._ O never, Lancaster! I am enjoined 200 To sue upon you all for his repeal; This wills my lord, and this must I perform, Or else be banished from his highness' presence.

_Lan._ For his repeal, madam! he comes not back, Unless the sea cast up his s.h.i.+pwrecked body.

_War._ And to behold so sweet a sight as that, There's none here but would run his horse to death.

_Y. Mor._ But, madam, would you have us call him home?

_Queen._ I, Mortimer, for till he be restored, The angry king hath banished me the court; 210 And, therefore, as thou lov'st and tender'st me, Be thou my advocate upon the peers.

_Y. Mor._ What! would you have me plead for Gaveston?

_E. Mor._ Plead for him that will, I am resolved.

_Lan._ And so am I, my lord! dissuade the queen.

_Queen._ O Lancaster! let him dissuade the king, For 'tis against my will he should return.

_War._ Then speak not for him, let the peasant go.

_Queen._ 'Tis for myself I speak, and not for him.

_Pem._ No speaking will prevail,[205] and therefore cease. 220

_Y. Mor._ Fair queen, forbear to angle for the fish Which, being caught, strikes him that takes it dead; I mean that vile torpedo, Gaveston, That now I hope floats on the Irish seas.

_Queen._ Sweet Mortimer, sit down by me awhile, And I will tell thee reasons of such weight As thou wilt soon subscribe to his repeal.

_Y. Mor._ It is impossible; but speak your mind.

_Queen._ Then thus, but none shall hear it but ourselves.

[_Talks to_ Y. MOR. _apart._

_Lan._ My lords, albeit the queen win Mortimer, 230 Will you be resolute, and hold with me?

_E. Mor._ Not I, against my nephew.

_Pem._ Fear not, the queen's words cannot alter him.

_War._ No, do but mark how earnestly she pleads.

_Lan._ And see how coldly his looks make denial.

_War._ She smiles; now for my life his mind is changed.

_Lan._ I'll rather lose his friends.h.i.+p, I, than grant.

_Y. Mor._ Well, of necessity it must be so.

My lords, that I abhor base Gaveston, I hope your honours take no question, 240 And therefore, though I plead for his repeal, 'Tis not for his sake, but for our avail!

Nay for the realm's behoof, and for the king's.

_Lan._ Fie, Mortimer, dishonour not thyself!

Can this be true, 'twas good to banish him?

And is this true, to call him home again?

Such reasons make white black, and dark night day.

_Y. Mor._ My lord of Lancaster, mark the respect.[206]

_Lan._ In no respect can contraries be true.

_Queen._ Yet, good my lord, here what he can allege. 250

_War._ All that he speaks is nothing, we are resolved.

_Y. Mor._ Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead?