The Works of Christopher Marlowe Volume II Part 42

_Kent._ Unhappy 's Edward, chased from England's bounds.

[_Aside._ _Sir. J._ Madam, what resteth, why stand you in a muse?

_Queen._ I rue my lord's ill-fortune; but alas!

Care of my country called me to this war.

_Y. Mor._ Madam, have done with care and sad complaint; Your King hath wronged your country and himself, And we must seek to right it as we may.

Meanwhile, have hence this rebel to the block.

_O. Spen._ Rebel is he that fights against the prince; So fought not they that fought in Edward's right. 80

_Y. Mor._ Take him away, he prates; you, Rice ap Howell, Shall do good service to her majesty, Being of countenance in your country here, To follow these rebellious runagates.

We in meanwhile, madam, must take advice, How Baldock, Spencer, and their complices, May in their fall be followed to their end.

[_Exeunt Omnes._

SCENE VI.

_Enter_[293] _the_ Abbot, Monks, EDWARD, YOUNG SPENCER, _and_ BALDOCK.

_Abbot._ Have you no doubt, my lord; have you no fear; As silent and as careful we will be, To keep your royal person safe with us, Free from suspect, and fell invasion Of such as have your majesty in chase, Yourself, and those your chosen company, As danger of this stormy time requires.

_Edw._ Father, thy face should harbour no deceit.

O! hadst thou ever been a king, thy heart, Pierced deeply with [a] sense of my distress, 10 Could not but take compa.s.sion of my state.

Stately and proud, in riches and in train, Whilom I was, powerful, and full of pomp: But what is he whom rule and empery Have not in life or death made miserable?

Come, Spencer; come, Baldock, come, sit down by me; Make trial now of that[294] philosophy, That in our famous nurseries of arts Thou suck'dst from Plato and from Aristotle.

Father, this life contemplative is heaven. 20 O that I might this life in quiet lead!

But we, alas! are chased; and you, my friends, Your lives and my dishonour they pursue.

Yet, gentle monks, for treasure, gold nor fee, Do you betray us and our company.

_Monk._ Your grace may sit secure, if none but we Do wot of your abode.

_Y. Spen._ Not one alive, but shrewdly I suspect A gloomy fellow in a mead below.

'A gave a long look after us, my lord, 30 And all the land I know is up in arms, Arms that pursue our lives with deadly hate.

_Bald._ We were embarked for Ireland, wretched we!

With awkward winds and sore[295] tempests driven To fall on sh.o.r.e, and here to pine in fear Of Mortimer and his confederates.

_Edw._ Mortimer! who talks of Mortimer?

Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer, That b.l.o.o.d.y man? Good father, on thy lap Lay I this head, laden with mickle care. 40 O might I never ope[296] these eyes again!

Never again lift up this drooping head!

O never more lift up this dying heart!

_Y. Spen._ Look up, my lord.--Baldock, this drowsiness Betides no good; here even we are betrayed.

_Enter, with Welsh hooks_, RICE AP HOWELL, _a_ Mower, _and the_ EARL OF LEICESTER.

_Mow._ Upon my life, these be the men ye seek.

_Rice._ Fellow, enough.--My lord, I pray be short, A fair commission warrants what we do.

_Leices._ The queen's commission, urged by Mortimer; What cannot gallant Mortimer with the queen? 50 Alas! see where he sits, and hopes unseen To escape their hands that seek to reave his life.

Too true it is, _Quem_[297] _dies vidit veniens superb.u.m, Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem._ But, Leicester, leave to grow so pa.s.sionate.

Spencer and Baldock, by no other names.

I [do] arrest you of high treason here.

Stand not on t.i.tles, but obey th' arrest; 'Tis in the name of Isabel the queen.

My lord, why droop you thus? 60

_Edw._ O day the last of all my bliss on earth!

Centre of all misfortune! O my stars, Why do you lour unkindly on a king?

Come[s] Leicester, then in Isabella's name To take my life, my company from me?

Here, man, rip up this panting breast of mine, And take my heart in rescue of my friends!

_Rice._ Away with them!

_Y. Spen._ It may become thee yet To let us take our farewell of his grace.

_Abbot._ My heart with pity earns[298] to see this sight, 70 A king to bear these words and proud commands.

_Edw._ Spencer, ah, sweet Spencer, thus then must we part?

_Y. Spen._ We must, my lord, so will the angry heavens.

_Edw._ Nay, so will h.e.l.l and cruel Mortimer; The gentle heavens have not to do in this.

_Bald._ My lord, it is in vain to grieve or storm.

Here humbly of your grace we take our leaves; Our lots are cast; I fear me, so is thine.

_Edw._ In heaven we may, in earth ne'er shall we meet: And, Leicester, say, what shall become of us? 80

_Leices._ Your majesty must go to Killingworth.

_Edw._ Must! it is somewhat hard, when kings must go.

_Leices._ Here is a litter ready for your grace, That waits your pleasure, and the day grows old.

_Rice._ As good be gone, as stay and be benighted.

_Edw._ A litter hast thou? lay me in a hea.r.s.e, And to the gates of h.e.l.l convey me hence; Let Pluto's bells ring out my fatal knell, And hags howl for my death at Charon's sh.o.r.e, For friend hath Edward none, but these and these:[299] 90 And these must die under a tyrant's sword.

_Rice._ My lord, be going; care not for these, For we shall see them shorter by the heads.

_Edw._ Well, that shall be, shall be: part we must!

Sweet Spencer, gentle Baldock, part we must!

Hence feigned weeds! unfeigned are my woes; [_Casts off his disguise._ Father, farewell! Leicester, thou stay'st for me, And go I must. Life, farewell, with my friends.

[_Exeunt_ EDWARD _and_ LEICESTER.

_Y. Spen._ O! is he gone? is n.o.ble Edward gone?

Parted from hence? never to see us more? 100 Rent, sphere of heaven! and, fire, forsake thy orb!

Earth, melt to air! gone is my sovereign, Gone, gone, alas! never to make return.