Enter the King, Leicester, with a Bishop for
the Crowne.
Lei.
Be patient good my Lord, cease to lament,
Imagine Killingworth Castell were your Court:
And that you lay for pleasure heere a space,
Not of compulsion or necessity.
Edw.
Leister, if gentle words might comfort me,
Thy speeches long agoe had eas'd my sorrowes,
For kinde and loving hast thou alwayes beene:
The griefes of private men are soone allaid,
But not of Kings, the Forrest Deere being strucke,
Runnes to an Herbe that closeth up the wounds,
But when the imperiall Lyons flesh is gor'd,
He rends, and teares it with his wrathfull paw,
Highly scorning, that the lowly earth
Should drinke his bloud, mounts up into the ayre:
And so it fares with me, whose dauntlesse mind
The ambitious Mortimer would seeke to curbe,
And that unnaturall Queene false Isabell,
That thus hath pent and mu'd me in a prison,
For such outragious passions cloy my soule,
As with the wings of rancour and disdaine
Full oft am I soaring up to Heaven,
To plaine me to the Gods against them both:
But when I call to mind I am a King,
Me thinkes I should revenge me of my wrongs,
That Mortimer and Isabell have done.
But what are Kings, when regiment is gone,
But perfect shadowes in a sun-shine day?
My Nobles rule, I beare the name of King,
I weare the Crowne, but am contrould by them,
By Mortimer, and my unconstant Queene,
Who spots my nuptiall bed with infamy,
Whilst I am lodg'd within this Cave of care,
Where sorrow at my elbow still attends,
To company my heart with sad laments,
That bleedes within me for this strange exchange.
But tell me must I now resigne my Crowne,
To make usurping Mortimer a King?
Bish.
Your Grace mistakes, it is for Englands good,
And Princely Edwards right, we crave the Crowne.
Edward.
No, tis for Mortimer, not Edwards head,
For hees a Lambe, encompassed by Wolves,
Which in a moment will abridge his life:
But if proud Mortimer doe weare this Crowne,
Heavens turne it to a blaze of quenchelesse fire,
Or like the snaky wreath of Tisiphon,
Engirt the Temples of his hatefull head,
So shall not Englands Vines be perished,
But Edwards name survive, though Edward dies.
Leist.
My Lord, why waste you thus the time away,
They stay your answere, will you yeeld your Crowne?
Edward.
Ah Leister, weigh how hardly I can brooke
To lose my Crowne and Kingdome without cause,
To give ambitious Mortimer my right,
That like a Mountaine overwhelmes my blisse,
In which extreames my mind heere murthered is:
But what the Heavens appoint, I must obey.
Here take my Crowne, the life of Edward too,
Two Kings in England cannot raigne at once:
But stay awhile, let me be King till night,
That I may gaze upon this glittering Crowne,
So shall my eyes receive their last content,
My head the latest honour due to it,
And joyntly both yeeld up their wished right.
Continue ever thou celestiall Sunne,
Let never silent night possesse this clime,
Stand still you watches of the Element,
All times and seasons rest you at a stay,
That Edward may be still faire Englands King:
But dayes bright beame doth vanish fast away,
And needes I must resigne my wished Crowne.
Inhumane creatures, nurst with Tigers milke,
Why gape you for your Soveraignes overthrow?
My Diadem I meane and guiltlesse life,
See monsters see, Ile weare my Crowne againe:
What feare you not the fury of your King?
But haplesse Edward, thou art fondly led,
They passe not for thy frownes as late they did,
But seeke to make a new elected King,
Which fils my mind with strange despairing thoughts,
Which thoughts are martyred with endlesse torments.
And in this torment comfort finde I none,
But that I feele the Crowne upon my head,
And therefore let me weare it yet a while.
Tru.
My Lord, the Parliament must have present newes,
And therefore say, will you resigne or no.
The King rageth.
Edw.
Ile not resigne, not whilst I live,
Traytors be gone, and joyne you with Mortimer,
Elect, conspire, enstall, doe what you will,
Their bloud and yours shall seale these Trecheries.
Bish.
This answere weele returne, and so farewell.
Lei.
Call them againe my Lord, and speake them faire,
For if they goe, the Prince shall lose his right.
Edw.
Call thou them backe, I have no power to speake.
Lei.
My Lord, the King is willing to resigne,
Bish.
If he be not, let him chuse.
Edw.
O would I might, but heavens and earth conspire
To make me miserable: here receive my Crowne,
Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine
Shall not be guilty of so foule a crime,
He of you all that most desires my bloud,
And will be cald the murtherer of a King,
Take it: what are you mov'd? pitty you me?
Then send for unrelenting Mortimer
And Isabell, whose eyes being turn'd to steele,
Will sooner sparkle fire then shed a teare:
Yet stay, for rather then I will looke on them,
Heere, heere: now sweete God of Heaven,
Make me despise this transitory pompe,
And sit for aye inthronized in Heaven,
Come death, and with thy fingers close my eyes,
Or if I live let me forget my selfe.
Enter Bartley.
Bart.
My Lord.
Edw.
Call me not Lord,
Away, out of my sight, ah pardon me,
Griefe makes me Lunaticke,
Let not that Mortimer protect my sonne,
More safety is there in a Tigers Jawes
Then his imbracements: beare this to the Queene,
Wet with my teares, and dryed againe with sighs,
If with the sight thereof she be not mooved,
Returne it backe, and dip it in my bloud,
Commend me to my Sonne and bid him rule
Better then I, yet how have I transgrest,
Unlesse it be with too much clemency?
Tru.
And thus most humbly do we take our leave.
Edw.
Farewell, I know the next newes that they bring,
Will be my death, and welcome shall it be,
To wretched men death is felicity.
Lei.
Another Post, what newes brings he?
Edw.
Such newes as I expect, come Bartley come,
And tell thy message to my naked breast.
Bart.
My Lord thinke not a thought so villanous
Can harbour in a man of noble birth.
To doe your Highnesse service and devoire,
And save you from your foes, Bartley would dye,
Lei.
My Lord, the Councell of the Queene commands,
That I resigne my charge.
Edw.
And who must keep me now, must you my Lord?
Bart.
I, my most gracious Lord, so tis decreed.
Edw.
By Mortimer whose name is written here,
Well may I rent his name, that rends my heart,
This poore revenge hath something eas'd my mind,
So may his limbs be torne as is this Paper,
Heare me immortall Jove, and grant it too.
Bart.
Your Grace must hence with me to Bartley straight.
Edw.
Whither you will, all places are alike,
And every earth is fit for buriall.
Lei.
Favour him my Lord as much as lieth in you.
Bart.
Even so betide my soule as I use him.
Edw.
My enemy hath pittied my estate,
And that's the cause that I am now remov'd.
Bar.
And thinks your Grace that Bartley wil be cruel?
Edw.
I know not, but of this am I assured,
That death ends all, and I can dye but once,
Leicester farewell.
Lei.
Not yet my Lord, Ile beare you on your way, Exeunt omnes.
Enter Mortimer and Queene Isabell.
Mor.ju.
Faire Isabell, now have we our desire,
The proud corrupters of the light-braind King,
Have done their homage to the lofty Gallowes,
And he himselfe lies in captivity,
Be rul'd by me, and we will rule the Realme,
In any case take heede of childish feare,
For now we hold an old Wolfe by the eare,
That if he slip will seaze upon us both,
And gripe the sorer being gript, himselfe.
Thinke therefore Madam that imports us much,
To erect your sonne with all the speede we may,
And that I be Protector over him.
For our behoofe, 'twill beare the greater sway,
When as a Kings name shall be under writ.
Qu.
Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabell
Be thou perswaded, that I love thee well,
And therefore so the Prince my sonne be safe,
Whom I esteeme as deere as these mine eyes,
Conclude against his father what thou wilt,
And I my selfe will willingly subscribe.
Mor.ju.
First would I heare newes that he were depos'd,
And then let me alone to handle him.
Enter Messenger
Mor.ju.
Letters, from whence?
Messen.
From Killingworth my Lord.
Qu.
How fares my Lord the King?
Messen.
In health Madam, but full of pensivenesse.
Qu.
Alas poore soule, would I could ease his griefe,
Thankes gentle Winchester, sirra be gone.
Win.
The King hath willingly resign'd his Crowne.
Qu.
O happy newes, send for the Prince my sonne.
Bi.
Further, or this letter was seal'd, Lord Bartly came,
So that he now is gone from Killingworth,
And we have heard that Edmond laid a plot,
To set his brother free, no more but so,
The Lord of Bartley is so pittifull,
As Leicester that had charge of him before.
Qu.
Then let some other be his Guardian.
Mor.ju.
Let me alone, here is the privy Seale,
Whose there, call hither Gurney and Matrevis,
To dash the heavy headed Edmonds drift,
Bartley shall be discharg'd, the King remov'd,
And none but we shall know where he lieth.
Qu.
But Mortimer, as long as he survives
What safety rests for us, or for my sonne?
Mor.ju.
Speake, shall he presently be dispatch'd & dye?
Qu.
I would he were, so it were not by my meanes.
Enter Matrevis and Gurney.
Mor.ju.
Inough Matrevis, write a Letter presently
Unto the Lord of Bartley from our selfe,
That he resigne the King to thee and Gurney,
And when tis done, we will subscribe our name,
Mat.
It shall be done my Lord.
Mor.ju.
Gurney.
Gur.
My Lord.
Mor.ju.
As thou intendest to rise by Mortimer,
Who now makes Fortunes wheele turne as he please,
Seeke all the meanes thou canst to make him droope,
And neither give him kinde word nor good looke.
Gur.
I warrant you my Lord.
Mor.ju.
And this above the rest, because we heare
That Edmond casts to worke his liberty,
Remove him still from place to place by night,
Till at the last, he come to Killingworth,
And then from thence to Bartley backe againe:
And by the way to make him fret the more,
Speake curstly to him, and in any case
Let no man comfort him, If he chance to weepe,
But amplifie his griefe with bitter words.
Matr.
Feare not my Lord, weele do as you command.
Mor.ju.
So now away, post thither wards amaine.
Qu.
Whither goes this Letter, to my Lord the King?
Commend me humbly to his Majesty,
And tell him, that I labour all in vaine,
To ease his griefe, and worke his liberty:
And beare him this, as witnesse of my love.
Mat.
I will madam.
Exeunt Matrevis and Gurney.
Manent Isabell and Mortimer.
Enter the young Prince, and the Earle of Kent
talking with him.
Mor.ju.
Finely dissembled, do so still sweete Queene,
Here comes the young Prince, with the Earle of Kent.
Qu.
Some thing he whispers in his childish eares.
Mor.ju.
If he have such accesse unto the Prince,
Our plots and stratagems will soone be dasht.
Qu.
Use Edmond friendly, as if all were well.
Mor.ju.
How fares my Honourable Lord of Kent?
Matr.
In health sweete Mortimer: how fares your Grace?
Qu.
Well, if my Lord your brother were enlarg'd.
Mat.
I heare of late he hath depos'd himselfe.
Qu.
The more my griefe.
Mor.ju.
And mine.
Edm.
Ah they doe dissemble.
Qu.
Sweete sonne come hither, I must talke with thee.
Mor.ju.
Thou being his Uncle, and the next of bloud,
Doe looke to be Protector over the Prince.
Edm.
Not I my Lord: who should protect the sonne,
But she that gave him life, I meane the Queene?
Prin.
Mother, perswade me not to weare the Crowne,
Let him be King, I am too young to raigne.
Qu.
But be content, seeing it his Highnes pleasure.
Prin.
Let mee but see him first, and then I will.
Edm.
I do sweete Nephew.
Qu.
Brother you know it is impossible.
Prin.
Why, is he dead?
Qu.
No, God forbid.
Edm.
I would those words proceeded from your heart.
Mor.ju.
Inconstant Edmond doest thou favour him,
That wast a cause of his imprisonment?
Edm.
The more cause have I now to make amends.
Mor.ju.
I tell thee tis not meet, that one so false
Should come about the Person of a Prince,
My Lord, he hath betray'd the King his brother,
And therefore trust him not.
Prin.
But he repents and sorrowes for it now.
Qu.
Come Son, and go with this gentle Lord and me.
Prin.
With you I will, but not with Mortimer.
Mor.
Why yongling, s'dainst thou so of Mortimer?
Then I will carry thee by force away.
Prin.
Helpe Unkle Kent, Mortimer will wrong me.
Qu.
Brother Edmond, strive not, we are his friends,
Isabell is neerer then the Earle of Kent.
Edm.
Sister, Edward is my charge, redeeme him.
Qu.
Edward is my sonne, and I will keepe him.
Edm.
Mortimer shall know that he hath wrong'd me.
Hence will I hast to Killingworth Castle,
And rescue aged Edward from his foes,
To be reveng'd on Mortimer and thee. Exeunt omnes.
Enter Matrevis and Gurney with the King.
Mat.
My Lord, be not pensive, we are your friends,
Men are ordain'd to live in misery,
Therefore come, dalliance dangereth our lives.
Edw.
Friends, whither must unhappy Edward goe,
Will hatefull Mortimer appoint no rest?
Must I be vexed like the nightly Bird,
Whose sight is loathsome to all winged Fowles?
When will the fury of his mind asswage?
When will his hart be satisfied with bloud?
If mine will serve, unbowell straight this brest,
And give my heart to Isabell and him,
It is the chiefest marke they levell at.
Gur.
Not so my Liege, the Queene hath given this charge,
To keepe your Grace in safety,
Your passions make your dolours encrease.
Edw.
This usage makes my misery encrease,
But can my ayre of life continue long,
When all my senses are annoy'd with stench?
Within a Dungeon Englands King is kept,
Where I am starv'd for want of sustenance,
My dayly diet is heart-breaking sobs,
That almost rents the closet of my heart,
Thus lives old Edward not reliev'd by any,
And so must dye, though pittyed by many.
O water gentle friends to coole my thirst,
And cleere my body from foule excrements.
Mat.
Heer's channell water as our charge is given,
Sit downe, for weele be Barbars to your Grace.
Edw.
Traytors away, what will you murther me,
Or choake your Soveraigne with puddle water?
Gur.
No, but wash your face, & shave away your beard,
Lest you be knowne, and so be rescued.
Matr.
Why strive you thus, your labour is in vaine?
Edw.
The Wren may strive against the Lions strength,
But all in vaine, so vainely do I strive,
To seeke for mercy at a Tyrants hand.
They wash him with puddle water, and shave
his beard away.
That waites upon my poore distressed soule,
O levell all your lookes upon these daring men,
That wronges their Liege & Soveraigne, Englands King,
O Gaveston, it is for thee that I am wrong'd,
For me, both thou and both the Spencers died,
And for your sakes a thousand wrongs Ile take,
The Spencers Ghosts where ever they remaine,
Wish well to mine, then tush, for them Ile dye.
Matr.
Twixt theirs and yours shall be no enmity,
Come, come away, now put the Torches out,
Weele enter in by darkenesse to Killingworth.
Enter Edmond.
Gur.
How now, who comes there?
Matr.
Guard the King sure, it is the Earle of Kent.
Edw.
O gentle brother helpe to rescue me.
Matr.
Keepe them asunder, thrust in the King.
Edm.
Souldiers, let me but talke to him one word.
Gur.
Lay hands upon the Earle for this assault.
Edm.
Lay down your weapons, traytors yeeld the King.
Matr.
Edmond, yeeld thou thy selfe, or thou shalt dye.
Edm.
Base Villaines, wherefore do you gripe me thus?
Gur.
Bind him, and so convey him to the Court.
Edm.
Where is the Court but heere, here is the King,
And I will visite him, why stay you me?
Matr.
The Court is where Lord Mortimer remaines,
Thither shall your honour goe, and so farewell.
Exeunt Matrevis and Gurney, with the King.
Manent Edmond and the Souldiers.
Edm.
O miserable is that common weale, where Lords
Keepe Courts, and Kings are lockt in Prison!
Sould.
Wherefore stay we? on Sirs to the Court.
Edw.
I, lead me whither you will, even to my death,
Seeing that my Brother cannot be releast. Exeunt omnes.
Enter Mortimer alone.
Mor.ju.
The King must dye, or Mortimer goes down,
The Commons now begin to pitty him,
Yet he that is the cause of Edwards death,
Is sure to pay for it when his sonne is of age,
And therefore will I do it cunningly,
This Letter written by a friend of ours,
Containes his death, yet bids them save his life,
Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est.
Feare not to kill the King, tis good he dye;
But reade it thus, and that's another sense:
Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est.
Kill not the King, tis good to feare the worst.
Unpointed as it is, thus shall it goe,
That being dead, if it chance to be found,
Matrevis and the rest may beare the blame,
And we be quit that caus'd it to be done.
Within this Roome is lock'd the Messenger,
That shall convey it, and performe the rest,
And by a secret token that he beares,
Shall he be murdered when the deed is done.
Lightborne come forth, art thou so resolute as thou wast?
Light.
What else my Lord? and farre more resolute.
Mor.ju.
And hast thou cast how to accomplish it?
Light.
I, I, and none shall know which way he died.
Mor.ju.
But at his lookes Lightborne thou wilt relent.
Light.
Relent, ha, ha, I use much to relent.
Mor.ju.
Well, doe it bravely, and be secret.
Light.
You shall not neede to give instructions,
Tis not the first time I have kil'd a man,
I learn'd in Naples how to poyson Flowers,
To strangle with a Lawne thrust downe the throate,
To pierce the wind-pipe with a needles point,
Or whilst one is asleepe, to take a Quill
And blow a little powder in his eares,
Or open his mouth, and powre quick-silver downe,
But yet I have a braver way then these.
Mor.
What's that?
Light.
Nay, you shall pardon me, none shall know my tricks.
Mor.
I care not how it is, so it be not spide,
Deliver this to Gurney and Matrevis,
At every ten miles end thou hast a Horse.
Take this, away, and never see me more.
Light.
No?
Mor.
No, unlesse thou bring me news of Edwards death.
Light.
That will I quickly do, farewell my Lord.
Mor.
The Prince I rule, the Queene do I command,
And with a lowly conge to the ground,
The proudest Lords salute me as I passe,
I seale, I cancell, I do what I will,
Fear'd am I more then lov'd, let me be fear'd:
And when I frowne make all the Court looke pale.
I view the Prince with Aristarcus eyes,
Whose lookes were as a breeching to a boy,
They thrust upon me the Protectorship,
And sue to me for that, that I desire,
While at the Councell Table, grave enough,
And not unlike a bashfull Puritaine,
First I complaine of imbecility,
Saying it is, onus quàm gravissimum,
Till being interrupted by my friends,
Suscepi that provinciam as they terme it,
And to conclude, I am Protector now,
Now is all sure, the Queene and Mortimer
Shall rule the Realme, the King, and none rules us.
Mine enemies will I plague, my friends advance,
And what I list command, who dare controule,
Major sum quàm cui possit fortuna nocere,
And that this be the coronation day,
It pleaseth me, and Isabell the Queene.
The Trumpets sound, I must goe take my place.
Enter the young King, Bishop, Champion, Nobles, Queene.
Bish.
Long live King Edward: by the grace of God,
King of England, and Lord of Ireland.
Cham.
If any Christian, Heathen, Turke, or Jew,
Dares but affirme, that Edwards not true King,
And will avouche his saying with the sword,
I am the Champion that will combat him.
Mor.ju.
None comes, sound Trumpets.
King.
Champion, here's to thee.
Qu.
Lord Mortimer, now take him to your charge.
Enter Souldiers with the Earle of Kent prisoner.
Mor.
What Traytor have we there with Blades and Bils?
Sould.
Edmond the Earle of Kent.
King.
What hath he done?
Sould.
A would have taken the King away perforce,
As we were bringing him to Killingworth.
Mor.ju.
Did you attempt his rescue, Edmond speake?
Edm.
Mortimer, I did, he is our King,
And thou compel'st this Prince to weare the Crowne.
Mor.ju.
Strike off his head, he shall have Marshall law.
Edm.
Strike of my head, base Traytor I defie thee.
King.
My Lord, he is my Unkle, and shall live.
Mor.ju.
My Lord, he is your enemy, and shall dye.
Edm.
Stay Villaines.
King.
Sweete Mother, if I cannot pardon him,
Intreate my Lord Protector for his life.
Qu.
Sonne be content, I dare not speake a word.
King.
Nor I, and yet me thinkes I should command,
But seeing I cannot, Ile entreate for him:
My Lord, if you will let my Unkle live,
I will requite it when I come to age.
Mor.ju.
Tis for your Highnesse good, and for the Realmes.
How often shall I bid you beare him hence?
Edm.
Art thou a King, must I dye at thy command?
Mor.ju.
At our command once more away with him.
Edm.
Let me but stay and speake, I will not goe,
Either my Brother or his sonne is King,
And none of both them thirst for Edmonds bloud.
And therfore Souldiers whither will you hale me?
They hale Edmond away, and carry him to
be beheaded.
King.
What safety may I looke for at his hands,
If that my Unkle shall be murthered thus?
Qu.
Feare not sweet boy, Ile guard thee from thy foes.
Had Edmond liv'd he would have sought thy death,
Come sonne, weele ride a hunting in the Parke.
King.
And shall my Unkle Edmond ride with us?
Qu.
He is a Traytor, thinke not on him, come. Exeunt omnes.
Enter Matrevis and Gurney.
Matr.
Gurney, I wonder the King dyes not,
Being in a Vault up to the knees in water,
To which the channels of the Bastell runs,
From whence a dampe continually ariseth,
That were enough to poyson any man,
Much more a King brought up so tenderly.
Gur.
And so do I, Matrevis: yesternight
I opened but the doore to throw him meate,
And I was almost stifled with the savour.
Matr.
He hath a body able to endure
More then we can inflict, and therefore now,
Let us assaile his mind another while.
Gur.
Send for him out thence, and I will anger him.
Matr.
But stay, whose this?
Enter Lightborne.
Light.
My Lord Protector greetes you.
Gur.
Whats heere? I know not how to construe it.
Matr.
Gurney, It was left unpointed for the nonce,
Edwardum occidere nolite timere,
That's his meaning.
Light.
Know you this token, I must have the King?
Matr.
I, stay a while, thou shalt have answere straight,
This villain's sent to make away the King.
Gurney.
I thought as much.
Matr.
And when the murther's done,
See how he must be handled for his labour.
Pereat iste. Let him have the King,
What else, here's the Keyes, this is the Lake,
Doe as you are commanded by my Lord.
Light.
I know what I must doe, get you away,
Yet be not farre off, I shall need your helpe,
See that in the next roome I have a Fire,
And get me a Spit, and let it be red hot.
Matr.
Very well.
Gur.
Neede you any thing besides?
Light.
What else, a Table and a Fetherbed.
Gur.
That's all.
Light.
I, I, so when I call you, bring it in.
Matr.
Feare not you that.
Gur.
Heer's a light to goe into the Dungeon.
Light.
So, now must I about this geere, neare was there any
So finely handled as this King shall be,
Foh, here's a place in deed with all my heart.
Edw.
Whose there, what light is that, wherefore com'st thou?
Light.
To comfort you, and bring you joyfull newes.
Edw.
Smal comfort finds poore Edward in thy lookes,
Villaine I know thou com'st to murder me.
Light.
To murther you my most gracious Lord,
Farre is it from my heart to do you harme,
The Queene sent me, to see how you were used,
For she relents at this your misery.
And what eyes can refraine from shedding teares,
To see a King, in this most pitious state?
Edw.
Weep'st thou already, list awhile to me,
And then thy heart were it as Gurneys is,
Or as Matrevis, hewne from the Caucasus,
Yet will it melt, ere I have done my tale.
This Dungeon where they keepe me, is the sinke
Wherein the filth of all the Castle falles.
Light.
O Villaines!
Edw.
And there in mire and puddle have I stood,
This ten dayes space, and lest that I should sleepe,
One playes continually upon a Drum,
They give me bread and water being a King,
So that for want of sleepe and sustenance,
My mind's distempered, and my bodie's num'd,
And whether I have limbs or no I know not.
O would my bloud dropt out from every veine.
As doth this water from my tottered robes.
Tell Isabell the Queene, I look't not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhorst the Duke of Cleremont.
Light.
O speake no more my Lord, this breakes my heart.
Lye on this bed and rest your selfe a while.
Edw.
These lookes of thine can harbour nought but death,
I see my Tragedy written in thy browes,
Yet stay a while, forbeare thy bloudy hand,
And let me see the stroke before it comes,
That and even then when I shall lose my life,
My mind may be more stedfast on my God.
Light.
What meanes your Highnesse to mistrust mee thus?
Edw.
What meanes thou to dissemble with me thus?
Light.
These hands were never stain'd with innocent bloud,
Nor shall they now be tainted with a Kings.
Edw.
Forgive my thought, for having such a thought,
One Jewell have I left, receive thou this,
Still feare I, and I know not what's the cause,
But every joynt shakes as I give it thee:
O if thou harbourst murther in thy heart,
Let this gift change thy mind, and save thy soule,
Know that I am a King, oh at that name,
I feele a hell of griefe, where is my Crowne:
Gone, gone, and doe I remaine?
Light.
Your over-watcht my Lord, lye downe and rest.
Edw.
But that griefe keepes me waking, I should sleepe.
For not these ten dayes have these eye-lids clos'd,
Now as I speake they fall, and yet with feare
Open againe, O wherefore sits thou heere?
Light.
If you mistrust me, Ile be gone my Lord.
Edw.
No, no, for if thou meanst to murther me,
Thou wilt returne againe, and therefore stay.
Light.
He sleepes.
Edw.
O let me not dye yet, O stay a while.
Light.
How now my Lord.
Edw.
Something still buzzeth in mine eares,
And tels me if I sleepe I never wake,
This feare is that which makes me tremble thus,
And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come?
Light.
To rid thee of thy life, Matrevis come,
Edw.
I am too weake and feeble to resist,
Assist me sweet God, and receive my soule.
Light.
Runne for the Table.
Edw.
O spare me, or dispatch me in a trice.
Light.
So, lay the Table downe, and stampe on it,
But not too hard, lest that you bruise his body.
Matr.
I feare me that this cry will raise the Towne,
And therefore let us take horse and away.
Light.
Tell me sirs, was it not bravely done?
Gur.
Excellent well, take this for thy reward.
Then Gurney stabs Lightborne.
And beare the Kings to Mortimer our Lord, away. Exeunt omnes.
Enter Mortimer and Matrevis.
Mor.ju.
Ist done, Matrevis, and the murtherer dead?
Matr.
I my good Lord, I would it were undone.
Mor.ju..
Matrevis, if thou now growest penitent
Ile be thy ghostly father, therefore chuse
Whether thou wilt be secret in this,
Or else dye by the hand of Mortimer.
Matr.
Gurney, my Lord, is fled, and will I feare,
Betray us both, therefore let me flye.
Mor.ju.
Fly to the Savages.
Matr.
I humbly thanke your Honour.
Mor.ju.
As for my selfe, I stand as Joves huge tree,
And others are but shrubs compar'd to me,
All tremble at my name, and I feare none,
Lets see who dare impeach me for his death?
Enter the Queene.
Qu.
A Mortimer, the King my sonne hath newes,
His father's dead, and we have murthered him.
Mor.ju.
What if he have? the King is yet a child.
Que.
I, I, but he teares his haire and wrings his hands,
And vowes to be reveng'd upon us both,
Into the Councell chamber he is gone,
To crave the aid and succour of his Peeres,
Aye me, see where he comes, and they with him,
Now Mortimer begins our Tragedy.
Enter the King, with the Lords.
Lords.
Feare not my Lord, know that you are a King.
King.
Villaine.
Mor.ju.
How now my Lord?
King.
Thinke not that I am frighted with thy words,
My father's murthered through thy trechery,
And thou shalt dye, and on his mournfull Herse,
Thy hatefull and accursed head shall lye,
To witnesse to the world, that by thy meanes
His Kingly body was too soone inter'd.
Qu.
Weepe not sweete sonne.
King.
Forbid not me to weepe, he was my Father,
And had you lov'd him halfe so well as I,
You could not beare his death thus patiently,
But you I feare conspir'd with Mortimer.
Lords.
Why speake you not unto my Lord the King?
Mor.ju.
Because I thinke scorne to be accus'd,
Who is the man dare say I murthered him?
King.
Traytour, in me my loving Father speakes,
And plainely saith, t'was thou that murtheredst him.
Mor.ju.
But hath your Grace no other proofe then this?
King.
Yes, if this be the hand of Mortimer.
Mor.ju.
False Gurney hath betray'd me and himselfe.
Qu.
I fear'd as much, murther cannot be hid.
Mor.ju.
Tis my hand, what gather you by this?
King.
That thither thou didst send a Murtherer.
Mor.ju.
What Murtherer? bring forth the man I sent.
King.
Ah Mortimer, thou know'st that he is slaine,
And so shalt thou be too: why stayes he heere?
Bring him unto a Hurdle, drag him forth,
Hang him I say, and set his quarters up,
But bring his head backe presently to me.
Qu.
For my sake sweete sonne pitty Mortimer.
Mor.ju.
Madame intreat not, I will rather dye,
Then sue for life unto a paltry Boy.
King.
Hence with the Traytor, with the Murtherer.
Mor.ju.
Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy Wheele
There is a point, to which when men aspire,
They tumble headlong downe, that point I toucht,
And seeing there was no place to mount up higher,
Why should I grieve at my declining fall?
Farewell faire Queene, weepe not for Mortimer,
That scornes the World, and as a Traveller
Goes to discover Countries yet unknowne.
King.
What, suffer you the Traytor to delay?
Qu.
As thou receivd'st thy life from me,
Spill not the bloud of gentle Mortimer.
King.
This argues that you spilt my Fathers bloud,
Els would you not intreat for Mortimer.
Que.
I spill his bloud?
King.
I Madam, you, for so the rumour runnes.
Que.
That rumour is untrue, for loving thee,
Is this report rais'd on poore Isabell.
King.
I do not thinke her so unnaturall.
Lords.
My Lord, I feare me it will prove too true.
King.
Mother you are suspected for his death,
And therefore we commit you to the Tower,
Till further tryall be made thereof,
If you be guilty, though I be your sonne,
Thinke not to finde me slack or pittifull.
Qu.
Nay, to my death, for too long have I liv'd,
When as my sonne thinkes to abridge my dayes.
King.
Away with her, her words inforce these teares,
And I shall pitty her if she speake againe.
Qu.
Shall I not moorne for my beloved Lord?
And with the rest accompany him to the Grave?
Lor.
Thus Madam, tis the Kings will you shall hence.
Qu.
He hath forgotten me, stay, I am his Mother.
Lords.
That bootes not, therefore gentle Madam goe.
Qu.
Then come sweet death, and rid me of this griefe.
Lords.
My Lord, heere is the head of Mortimer.
King.
Goe fetch my Fathers hearse, where it shall lye,
And bring my Funerall Robes. Accursed head,
Could I have rul'd thee then, as I doe now,
Thou hadst not hatcht this monstrous Trechery.
Here comes the Herse, helpe me to mourne my Lords:
Sweete Father heere, unto thy murthered Ghost,
I offer up this wicked Traytors head,
And let these teares distilling from mine eyes,
Be witnesse of my griefe and innocency.
FINIS.
