Act Two, Scene OneEnter Spencer and Balduck.
Seeing that our Lord th'earle of Glosters dead,
Which of the nobles dost thou meane to serve?
Not Mortimer, nor any of his side,
Because the king and he are enemies.
Baldock: learne this of me, a factious lord
Shall hardly do himselfe good, much lesse us,
But he that hath the favour of a king,
May with one word, advaunce us while we live:
The liberall earle of Cornewall is the man,
On whose good fortune Spencers hope depends.
What, meane you then to be his follower?
No, his companion, for he loves me well,
And would have once preferd me to the king.
But he is banisht, theres small hope of him.
I for a while, but Baldock marke the end,
A friend of mine told me in secrecie,
That hees repeald, and sent for back againe,
And even now, a poast came from the court,
With letters to our ladie from the King,
And as she red, she smild, which makes me thinke,
It is about her lover Gaveston.
Tis like enough, for since he was exild,
She neither walkes abroad, nor comes in sight:
But I had thought the match had beene broke off,
And that his banishment had changd her minde.
Our Ladies first love is not wavering,
My life for thine she will have Gaveston.
Then hope I by her meanes to be preferd,
Having read unto her since she was a childe.
Then Balduck, you must cast the scholler off,
And learne to court it like a Gentleman,
Tis not a black coate and a little band,
A Velvet cap'de cloake, fac'st before with Serge,
And smelling to a Nosegay all the day,
Or holding of a napkin in your hand,
Or saying a long grace at a tables end,
Or making lowe legs to a noble man,
Or looking downeward, with your eye lids close,
And saying, trulie ant may please your honor,
Can get you any favour with great men.
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute,
And now and then, stab as occasion serves.
Spencer, thou knowest I hate such formall toies,
And use them but of meere hypocrisie.
Mine old lord whiles he livde, was so precise,
That he would take exceptions at my buttons,
And being like pins heads, blame me for the bignesse,
Which made me curate-like in mine attire,
Though inwardly licentious enough,
And apt for any kinde of villanie.
I am none of these common pedants I,
That cannot speake without propterea quod.
But one of those that saith quandoquidem,
And hath a speciall gift to forme a verbe.
Leave of this jesting, here my lady comes.
Enter the Ladie (Neece to the king).
The greefe for his exile was not so much,
As is the joy of his returning home.
This letter came from my sweete Gaveston,
What needst thou, love, thus to excuse thy selfe?
I know thou couldst not come and visit me.
“I will not long be from thee though I die:”
This argues the entire love of my Lord.
“When I forsake thee, death seaze on my heart,”
But rest stay Q3-4, Dd2- thee here where Gaveston shall sleepe
Now to the letter of my Lord the King,
He wils me to repaire unto the court,
And meete my Gaveston why do I stay,
Seeing that he talkes thus of my mariage day?
Whose there, Balduck?
See that my coache be readie, I must hence.
It shall be done madam.
And meete me at the parke pale presentlie:
Spencer, stay you and beare me companie,
For I have joyfull newes to tell thee of;
My lord of Cornewall is a comming over,
And will be at the court as soone as we.
I knew the King would have him home againe.
If all things sort out, as I hope they will,
Thy service Spencer shalbe thought upon.
I humbly thanke your Ladieship.
Come lead the way, I long till I am there.
Act Two, Scene TwoEnter Edward, the Queene, Lancaster, Mortimer[junior], Warwicke, Penbrooke, Kent, attendants.
The winde is good, I wonder why he stayes,
I feare me he is wrackt upon the sea.
Look Lancaster how passionate he is,
And still his minde runs on his minion.
How now, what newes, is Gaveston arrivde?
Nothing but Gaveston, what means your grace?
You have matters of more waight to thinke upon,
The King of Fraunce sets foote in Normandie.
A trifle, weele expell him when
But tell me Mortimer, whats thy devise,
Against the stately triumph we decreed?
A homely one my lord, not worth the telling.
Prethee let me know it.
But seeing you are so desirous, thus it is:
A loftie Cedar tree faire flourishing,
On whose top-branches Kinglie Eagles pearch,
And by the barke a canker creepes me up,
And gets unto the highest bough of all,
The motto: Aeque tandem.
And what is yours my lord of Lancaster?
My lord, mines more obscure then Mortimers.
Plinie reports, there is a flying Fish,
Which all the other fishes deadly hate,
And therefore being pursued, it takes the aire:
No sooner is it up, but thers a foule,
That seaseth it: this fish my lord I beare,
The motto this: Undique mors est.
Proud Mortimer, ungentle Lancaster,
Is this the love you beare your soveraigne?
Is this the fruite your reconcilement beares?
Can you in words make showe of amitie,
And in your shields display your rancorous minds?
What call you this but private libelling,
Against the Earle of Cornewall and my brother?
Sweete husband be content, they all love you.
They love me not that hate my Gaveston.
I am that Cedar, shake me not too much,
And you the Eagles, sore ye nere so high,
I have the gesses that will pull you downe,
And Aeque tandem shall that canker crie,
Unto the proudest peere of Britanie:
Though thou comparst him to a flying Fish,
And threatenest death whether he rise or fall,
Tis not the hugest monster of the sea,
Nor fowlest Harpie that shall swallow him.
If in his absence thus he favors him,
What will he do when as he shall be present?
That shall wee see, looke where his lordship comes.
Welcome to Tinmouth, welcome to thy friend,
Thy absence made me droope, and pine away,
For as the lovers of faire Danae,
When she was lockt up in a brasen tower,
Desirde her more, and waxt outragious,
So did it sure with me: and now thy sight
Is sweeter farre, then was thy parting hence
Bitter and irkesome to my sobbing heart.
Sweet Lord and King, your speech preventeth mine,
Yet have I words left to expresse my joy:
The sheepeherd nipt with biting winters rage,
Frolicks not more to see the paynted springe,
Then I doe to behold your Majestie.
Will none of you salute my Gaveston?
Salute him? yes: welcome Lord Chamberlaine.
Welcome is the good Earle of Cornewall.
Welcome Lord governour of the Ile of Man.
Welcome maister secretarie.
Brother, doe you heare them?
Stil wil these Earles and Barrons use me thus?
My Lord I cannot brooke these injuries.
Aye me poore soule when these begin to jarre.
Returne it to their throtes, ile be thy warrant.
Base leaden Earles that glorie in your birth,
Goe sit at home and eate your tenants beefe:
And come not here to scoffe at Gaveston,
Whose mounting thoughts did never creepe so low,
As to bestow a looke on such as you.
Yet I disdaine not to doe this for you.
Treason, treason: whers the traitor?
Convey hence Gaveston, thaile murder him.
The life of thee shall salve this foule disgrace.
Villaine thy life, unlesse I misse mine aime.
Ah furious Mortimer what hast thou done?
No more then I would answere were he slaine.
[Exit Gaveston, attended.]
Yes more then thou canst answer though he live,
Deare shall you both abie this riotous deede:
Out of my presence, come not neere the court.
Ile not be barde the court for Gaveston.
Weele haile him by the eares unto the block.
Looke to your owne heads, his is sure enough.
Looke to your owne crowne, if you back him thus.
Warwicke, these words do ill beseeme thy years.
Nay all of them conspire to crosse me thus,
But if I live, ile tread upon their heads,
That thinke with high lookes thus to tread me down.
Come Edmund lets away, and levie men,
Tis warre that must abate these Barons pride.
Exit the King [, Queene, and Kent].
Lets to our castels, for the king is moovde.
Moov'd may he be, and perish in his wrath.
Cosin it is no dealing with him now,
He meanes to make us stoope by force of armes,
And therefore let us jointlie here protest,
To prosecute that Gaveston to the death.
By heaven, the abject villaine shall not live.
Ile have his bloud, or die in seeking it.
The like oath Penbrooke takes.
And so doth Lancaster:
Now send our Heralds to defie the King,
And make the people sweare to put him downe.
Enter a Poast.
Letters, from whence?
From Scotland my lord.
Why how now cosin, how fares all our friends?
My unckles taken prisoner by the Scots.
Weel have him ransomd man, be of good cheere.
They rate his ransome at five thousand pound.
Who should defray the money, but the King,
Seeing he is taken prisoner in his warres?
Ile to the King.
Do cosin, and ile beare thee companie.
Meane time my lord of Penbrooke and my selfe,
Will to Newcastell heere, and gather head.
About it then, and we will follow you.
Be resolute, and full of secrecie.
I warrant you.
Cosin, and if he will not ransome him,
Ile thunder such a peale into his eares,
As never subject did unto his King.
Content, ile beare my part, holla whose there?
[Enter a Guard.]
I marry, such a garde as this dooth well.
Lead on the way.
Whither will your lordships?
Whither else but to the King.
His highnes is disposde to be alone.
Why, so he may, but we will speake to him.
You may not in, my lord.
May we not?
[Enter the King and Kent.]
How now, what noise is this?
Who have we there, ist you?
[Offers to go back.]
Nay, stay my lord, I come to bring you newes,
Mine unckles taken prisoner by the Scots.
Then ransome him.
Twas in your wars, you should ransome him.
And you shall ransome him, or else--
What Mortimer, you will not threaten him?
Quiet your self, you shall have the broad seale,
To gather for him thoroughout the realme.
Your minion Gaveston hath taught you this.
My lord, the familie of the Mortimers
Are not so poore, but would they sell their land,
Would levie men enough to anger you.
We never beg, but use such praiers as these.
[Lays hand on sword.]
Shall I still be haunted thus?
Nay, now you are heere alone, ile speake my minde.
And so will I, and then my lord farewell.
The idle triumphes, maskes, lascivious showes
And prodigall gifts bestowed on Gaveston,
Have drawne thy treasure drie, and made thee weake,
The murmuring commons overstretched hath.
Lancaster. Looke for rebellion, looke to be deposde,
Thy garrisons are beaten out of Fraunce,
And lame and poore, lie groning at the gates,
The wilde Oneyle, with swarmes of Irish Kernes,
Lives uncontroulde within the English pale,
Unto the walles of Yorke the Scots made rode,
And unresisted, drave away riche spoiles.
The hautie Dane commands the narrow seas,
While in the harbor ride thy ships unrigd.
What forraine prince sends thee embassadors?
Who loves thee? but a sort of flatterers.
Thy gentle Queene, sole sister to Valoys,
Complaines, that thou hast left her all forlorne.
Thy court is naked, being bereft of those,
That makes a king seeme glorious to the world,
I meane the peeres, whom thou shouldst dearly love:
Libels are cast againe thee in the streete,
Ballads and rimes, made of thy overthrow.
The Northren borderers seeing their houses burnt,
Their wives and children slaine, run up and downe,
Cursing the name of thee and Gaveston.
When wert thou in the field with banner spred?
But once , and then thy souldiers marcht like players,
With garish robes, not armor, and thy selfe
Bedaubd with golde, rode laughing at the rest,
Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest,
Where womens favors hung like labels downe.
And thereof came it, that the fleering Scots,
To Englands high disgrace, have made this Jig,
Maids of England, sore may you moorne,
For your lemmons you have lost, at Bannocks borne,
With a heave and a ho,
What weeneth the king of England,
So soone to have woone Scotland,
With a rombelow.
Wigmore shall flie, to set my unckle free.
And when tis gone, our swordes shall purchase more.
If ye be moov'de, revenge it as you can,
Looke next to see us with our ensignes spred.
My swelling hart for very anger breakes,
How oft have I beene baited by these peeres?
And dare not be revengde, for their power is great:
Yet, shall the crowing of these cockerels,
Affright a Lion? Edward, unfolde thy pawes,
And let their lives bloud slake thy furies hunger:
If I be cruell, and growe tyrannous,
Now let them thanke themselves, and rue too late.
My lord, I see your love to Gaveston,
Will be the ruine of the realme and you,
For now the wrathfull nobles threaten warres,
And therefore brother banish him for ever.
Art thou an enemie to my Gaveston?
I, and it greeves me that I favoured him.
Traitor be gone, whine thou with Mortimer.
So will I, rather then with Gaveston.
Out of my sight, and trouble me no more.
No marvell though thou scorne thy noble peeres,
When I thy brother am rejected thus.
Poore Gaveston, that hast no friend but me,
Do what they can, weele live in Tinmoth here,
And so I walke with him about the walles,
What care I though the Earles begirt us round?
Heere comes she thats cause of all these jarres.
Enter the Queene, three Ladies [, one of these Neece to the king, Gaveston], Baldock, and Spencer.
My lord, tis thought, the Earles are up in armes.
I, and tis likewise thought you favour him.
Thus do you still suspect me without cause.
Sweet unckle speake more kindly to the queene.
My lord, dissemble with her, speake her faire.
Pardon me sweet, I forgot my selfe.
Your pardon is quicklie got of Isabell.
The yonger Mortimer is growne so brave,
That to my face he threatens civill warres.
Why do you not commit him to the tower?
I dare not, for the people love him well.
Why then weele have him privilie made away.
Would Lancaster and he had both carroust,
A bowle of poison to each others health:
But let them go, and tell me what are these.
Two of my fathers servants whilst he liv'de,
Mait please your grace to entertaine them now.
Tell me, where wast thou borne?What is thine armes?
My name is Baldock, and my gentrie
If fetcht rom Oxford, not from Heraldrie.
The fitter art thou Baldock for my turne,
Waite on me, and ile see thou shalt not want.
I humblie thanke your majestie.
Knowest thou him Gaveston?
I my lord,
His name is Spencer, he is well alied,
For my sake let him waite upon your grace,
Scarce shall you finde a man of more desart.
Then Spencer waite upon me, for his sake
Ile grace thee with a higher stile ere long.
No greater titles happen unto me,
Then to be favoured of your majestie.
Cosin, this day shalbe your mariage feast,
And Gaveston, thinke that I love thee well,
To wed thee to our neece, the onely heire
Unto the Earle of Gloster late deceased.
I know my lord, many will stomack me,
But I respect neither their love nor hate.
The head-strong Barons shall not limit me.
He that I list to favour shall be great:
Come lets away, and when the mariage ends,
Have at the rebels, and their complices.
Act Two, Scene ThreeEnter Lancaster, Mortimer [junior], Warwick, Penbrooke, Kent.
My lords, of love to this our native land,
I come to joine with you, and leave the king,
And in your quarrell and the realmes behoofe,
Will be the first that shall adventure life.
I feare me you are sent of pollicie,
To undermine us with a showe of love.
He is your brother, therefore have we cause
To cast the worst, and doubt of your revolt.
Mine honor shalbe hostage of my truth,
If that will not suffice, farewell my lords.
Stay Edmund, never was Plantagenet
False of his word, and therefore trust we thee.
But whats the reason you should leave him now?
I have enformd the Earle of Lancaster.
And it sufficeth: now my lords know this,
That Gaveston is secretlie arrivde,
And here in Tinmoth frollicks with the king.
Let us with these our followers scale the walles,
And sodenly surprize them unawares.
Ile give the onset.
And ile follow thee.
This tottered ensigne of my auncesters,
Which swept the desart shore of that dead sea,
Whereof we got the name of Mortimer,
Will I advaunce upon this castell walles,
Drums strike alarum, raise them from their sport,
And ring aloude the knell of Gaveston.
None be so hardie as to touche the King,
But neither spare you Gaveston, nor his friends.
Act Two, Scene Four[Alarums.] Enter [at several doors] the King and Spencer, to them Gaveston, &c. [the Queene, Neece, lords].
O tell me Spencer, where is Gaveston?
I feare me he is slaine my gratious lord.
No, here he comes, now let them spoile and kill:
Flie, flie, my lords, the earles have got the holde,
Take shipping and away to Scarborough,
Spencer and I will post away by land.
O stay my lord, they will not injure you.
I will not trust them, Gaveston away.
Farewell my Lord.
Farewell sweete unckle till we meete againe.
Farewell sweete Gaveston, and farewell Neece.
No farewell, to poore Isabell, thy Queene?
Yes, yes, for Mortimer your lovers sake.
Exeunt omnes, manet Isabella.
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.
Enter the Barons, alarums.
I wonder how he scapt.
Whose this, the 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.
Cease to lament, and tell us wheres the king?
What would you with the king, ist him you seek?
No madam, but that cursed Gaveston.
Farre be it from the thought of Lancaster,
To offer violence to his soveraigne,
We would but rid the realme of Gaveston,
Tell us where he remaines, and he shall die.
Hees gone by water unto Scarborough,
Pursue him quicklie, and he cannot scape,
The king hath left him, and his traine is small.
Forslowe no time, sweet Lancaster lets march.
How comes it, that the king and he is parted ?
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.
Heere in the river rides a Flemish hoie,
Lets all aboord, and follow him amaine.
The wind that bears him hence, wil fil our sailes,
Come, come aboord, tis but an houres sailing.
Madam, stay you within this castell here.
No Mortimer, ile to my lord the king.
Nay, rather saile with us to Scarborough.
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.
Madam, I cannot stay to answer you,
But thinke of Mortimer as he deserves.
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 Two Scene FiveEnter Gaveston pursued.
Yet lustie lords I have escapt your handes,
Your threats, your larums, and your hote pursutes,
And though devorsed from king Edwards eyes,
Yet liveth Pierce of Gaveston unsurprizd,
Breathing, in hope (malgrado all your beards,
That muster rebels thus against your king）
To see his royall soveraigne once againe.
Enter the Nobles.
Upon him souldiers, take away his weapons.
Thou proud disturber of thy countries peace,
Corrupter of thy king, cause of these broiles,
Base flatterer, yeeld, and were it not for shame,
Shame and dishonour to a souldiers name,
Upon my weapons point here shouldst thou fall,
And welter in thy goare.
Monster of men,
That like the Greekish strumpet traind to armes
And bloudie warres, so many valiant knights,
Looke for no other fortune wretch then death,
King Edward is not heere to buckler thee.
Warwicke. Lancaster, why talkst thou to the slave ?
Go souldiers take him hence, for by my sword,
His head shall off: Gaveston, short warning
Shall serve thy turne: it is our countries cause,
That here severelie we will execute
Upon thy person: hang him at a bough.
Souldiers, have him away:
But for thou wert the favorit of a King,
Thou shalt have so much honor at our hands.
I thanke you all my lords, then I perceive,
That heading is one, and hanging is the other,
And death is all.
Enter earle of Arundell.
How now my lord of Arundell?
My lords, king Edward greetes you all by me.
Arundell, say your message.
Hearing that you had taken Gaveston,
Intreateth you by me, yet but he may
See him before he dies, for why he saies,
And sends you word, he knowes that die he shall,
And if you gratifie his grace so farre,
He will be mindfull of the curtesie.
Renowmed Edward, how thy name
Revives poore Gaveston.
No, it needeth not.
Arundell, we will gratifie the king
In other matters, he must pardon us in this,
Souldiers away with him.
Why my Lord of Warwicke,
Will not these delaies beget my hopes?
I know it lords, it is this life you aime at,
Yet graunt king Edward this.
Shalt thou appoint
What we shall graunt? Souldiers away with him:
Thus weele gratifie the king,
Weele send his head by thee, let him bestow
His teares on that, for that is all he gets
of Gaveston, or else his sencelesse trunck.
Not so my Lord, least he bestow more cost,
In burying him, then he hath ever earned.
Arundell My lords, it is his majesties request,
And in the honor of a king he sweares,
He will but talke with him and send him backe.
When, can you tell ? Arundell no,
We wot, he that the care of realme remits,
And drives his nobles to these exigents
For Gaveston, will if he seaze zease sees him once,
Violate any promise to possesse him.
Then if you will not trust his grace in keepe;
My lords, I will be pledge for his returne.
It is honourable in thee to offer this,
But for we know thou art a noble gentleman,
We will not wrong thee so,
To make away a true man for a theefe.
How meanst thou Mortimer? that is over base.
Away base groome, robber of kings renowme,
Question with thy companions and thy mates.
My lord Mortimer, and you my lords each one,
To gratifie the kings request therein,
Touching the sending of this Gaveston,
Because his majestie so earnestlie
Desires to see the man before his death,
I will upon mine honor undertake
To carrie him, and bring him back againe,
Provided this, that you my lord of Arundell
Will joyne with me.
Penbrooke, what wilt thou do?
Cause yet more bloudshed: is it not enough
That we have taken him, but must we now
Leave him on had-I-wist, and let him go ?
My lords, I will not over wooe your honors,
But if you dare trust Penbrooke with the prisoner,
Upon mine oath I will returne him back.
My lord of Lancaster, what say you in this ?
Why I say, let him go onPenbrookes word.
And you lord Mortimer?
How say you my lord of Warwick?
Nay, do your pleasures,I know how twill proove.
Then give him me.
Sweete soveraigne, yet I come
To see thee ere I die.
Yet not perhaps, [Aside.]
If Warwickes wit and policile prevaile.
My lord of Penbrooke, we deliver him you,
Returne him on your honor. Sound, away.
Manent Penbrooke, Arundell, Gaveston, and Penbrookes men, foure souldiers [, one of them James].
My Lord, you shall go with me,
My house is not farre hence, out of the way
A little, but our men shall go along.
We that have prettie wenches to our wives,
Sir, must not come so neare and balke their lips.
Tis verie kindlie spoke my lord of Penbrooke,
Your honor hath an adamant, of power
To drawe a prince.
So my lord. Come hether James,
I do commit this Gaveston to thee,
Be thou this night his keeper, in the morning
We will discharge thee of thy charge, be gon.
Unhappie Gaveston, whether goest thou now.
Exit [Gaveston] cum servis Penbrookis.
My lord, weele quicklie be at Cobham.
Exeunt ambo [Penbrooke and Arundell, attended].
Act Two, Scene SixEnter Gaveston moorning, and the earle of Penbrookes men [, James and three souldiers].
O treacherous Warwicke thus to wrong thy friend!
I see it is your life these armes pursue.
Weaponles must I fall and die in bands,
O must this day be period of my life,
Center of all my blisse! And yee be men,
Speede to the king.
Enter Warwicke and his companie.
My lord of Penbrookes men,
Strive you no longer, I will have that Gaveston.
Your lordship doth dishonor to your selfe,
And wrong our lord, your honorable friend.
No James, it is my countries cause I follow.
Goe, take the villaine, soldiers come away,
Weel make quick worke, commend me to your maister
My friend, and tell him that I watcht it well.
Come, let thy shadow parley with king Edward.
Treacherous earle, shall I not see the king ?
The king of heaven perhaps, no other king, Away.
Exeunt Warwicke and his men, with Gaveston.
Manet James cum caeteris.
Come fellowes, it booted not for us to strive,
We will in hast go certifie our Lord.