# Edward II/Act III

Enter King Edward and Spencer, with Drums and Fifes.
Edw. I long to heare an answere from the Barons, Touching my friend, my deerest Gaveston, Ah Spencer, not the riches of my Realme Can ransome him, ah he is mark't to die, I know the malice of the younger Mortimer, Warwicke I know is rough, and Lancaster
Inexorable, and I shall never see My lovely Pierce, my Gaveston againe, The Barons overbeare me with their pride.
Spencer. Were I King Edward, Englands soveraigne, Sonne to the lovelie Elenor of Spaine, Great Edward Longshankes issue: would I beare These braves, this rage, and suffer uncontrowld These Barons thus to beard me in my land, In mine owne realme? my lord pardon my speeche, Did you retaine your fathers magnanimitie, Did you regard the honor of your name, You would not suffer thus your Majestie Be counterbuft of your nobilitie. Strike off their heads, and let them preach on poles, No doubt, such lessons they will teach the rest, As by their preachments they will profit much, And learne obedience to their lawfull King.
Edw. Yea gentle Spencer, we have beene too milde, Too kinde to them, but now have drawne our sword, And if they send me not my Gaveston, Weele steele it on their crest, and powle their tops.
Bald. This haught resolve becomes your Majestie, Not to be tied to their affection, As though your highnes were a schoole boy still, And must be awde and governd like a child.
Enter Hugh Spencer an old man, father to the young Spencer, with his Trunchion and Soldiers.
Spen.pa. Long live my soveraigne the noble Edward, In peace triumphant, fortunate in warres.
Edw. Welcome old man, com'st thou in Edwards aide? Then tell thy Prince of whence and what thou art.
Spen.pa. Loe with a band of Bowmen and of Pikes, Browne Bils, and Targetiers, foure hundred strong, Sworne to defend King Edwards royall right, I come in person to your Majesty, Spencer, the father of Hugh Spencer there, Bound to your Highnesse ever-lastingly, For favour done in him, unto us all.
Edw. Thy father Spencer?
Spen.filius. True, and it like your Grace, That powres (in lieu of all your goodnesse shewne) His life my Lord, before your Princely feere.
Edw. Welcome ten thousand times, old man againe. Spencer, this love, this kindnesse to thy King, Argues thy noble mind and disposition: Spencer, I here create thee Earle of Wilshire, And dayly will enrich thee with our favour, That as the sun-shine shall reflect ore thee: Beside, the more to manifest our love, Because we heare Lord Bruse doth sell his Land, And that the Mortimers are in hand withall, Thou shalt have Crownes of us to out-bid the Barons: And Spencer, spare them not, lay it on. Souldiers a Largis, and thrice welcome all.
Spen. My Lord, heere comes the Queene.
Enter the Queene and her Sonne, and Lewne a Frenchman.
Madam, what newes?
Qu. Newes of dishonour Lord and discontent, Our friend Lewne, faithfull and full of trust, Informeth us by Letters and by words, That Lord Valoys our Brother, King of France, Because your Highnesse hath beene slacke in homage, Hath seazed Normandy into his hands, These be the Letters, this the Messenger.
Edw. Welcome Lewne, tush Sib, if this be all, Valoys and I will soone be friends againe, But to my Gaveston: shall I never see, Never behold thee now? Madam in this matter We will employ you and your little sonne, You shall go parley with the King of France, Boy, see you beare you bravely to the King, And do your message with a Majesty.
Prin. Commit not to my youth things of more waight Then fits a Prince so young as I to beare, And feare not Lord and father, heavens great beames
On Atlas shoulder, shall not lye more safe, Then shall your charge committed to my trust.
Qu. Ah Boy, this towardnesse makes thy Mother feare Thou art not markt to many dayes on Earth.
Edw. Madame, we will that you with speede be shipt, And this our sonne, Lewne, shall follow you, With all the haste we can dispatch him hence, Choose of our Lords to beare you company, And goe in peace, leave us in warres at home.
Qu. Unnatural wars, where subjects brave their King, God end them once, my Lord I take my leave, To make my preparation for France.
Enter Lord Matrevis.
Edw. What Lord Matre, dost thou come alone?
Mat. Yes my good Lord, for Gaveston is dead.
Edw. Ah Traytors, have they put my friend to death, Tell me Matre, died he ere thou cam'st, Or did'st thou see my friend to take his death?
Mat. Neither my Lord, for as he was surpriz'd, Begirt with weapons, and with enemies round, I did your Highnesse message to them all, Demanding him of them, entreating rather, And said, upon the honour of my name, That I would undertake to carry him Unto your Highnesse, and to bring him backe.
Edw. And tell me, would the Rebels deny me that?
Spen. Proud Recreants.
Edw. Yea Spencer traitors all.
Matre. I found them at the first inexorable. The Earle of Warwicke would not bide the hearing, Mortimer hardly, Penbrooke and Lancaster Spake least: and when they flatly had denyed, Refusing to receive my pledge for him, The Earle of Penbrooke mildly thus bespake: My Lords, because our Soveraigne sends for him, And promiseth he shall be safe return'd, I will this undertake, to have him hence, And see him redelivered to your hands.
Edw. Well, and how fortunes that he came not?
Spen. Some treason, or some villany was cause.
Mat. The Earle of Warwicke seaz'd him on his way, For being delivered unto Penbrookes men, Their Lord rode home, thinking his Prisoner safe, But ere he came Warwicke in ambush lay, And bare him to his death, and in a Trench Stroke off his head, and marcht unto the Campe.
Spen. A bloudy part, flatly 'gainst law of armes.
Edw. O shall I speake, or shall I sigh and dye!
Spen. My Lord, referre your vengeance to the sword, Upon these Barons, harten up your men, Let them not unreveng'd murther your friends, Advaunce your standard Edward in the field, And march to fire them from their starting holes.
Edward kneeles, and saith.
By |Heaven, and all the mooving Orbes thereof, By this right hand, and by my Fathers sword, And all the Honours longing to my Crowne, I will have Heads, and Lives for him as many, As I have Manors, Castles, Townes, and Towers, Trecherous Warwicke, traiterous Mortimer: If I be Englands King, in Lakes of gore Your headlesse Trunkes, your bodies will I traile, That you may drinke your fill, and quaffe in bloud, And staine my royall Standard with the same, That so my bloudy colours may suggest Remembrance of revenge immortally, On your accursed traiterous Progenie: You Villaines that have slaine my Gaveston, And in this place of Honour and of trust, Spencer, sweete Spencer, I adopt thee heere, And meerely of our love we do create thee Earle of Gloster, and Lord Chamberlaine, Despight of times, despight of enemies.
Spen. My Lord, heer's is a Messenger from the Barons, Desires accesse unto your Majesty.
Edw. Admit him neere.
Enter the Herald from the Barons, with his Coate of Armes.
Mes. Long live King Edward, Englands lawfull Lord.
Edw. So wish not they Iwis that sent thee hither, Thou com'st from Mortimer and his complices, A ranker rout of Rebels never was: Well, say thy Message.
Mes. The Barons up in armes, by me salute Your Highnesse, with long life and happinesse, And bid me say as plainer to your Grace, That if without effusion of bloud, You will of this have ease and remedy, That from your Princely Person you remove This Spencer, as a putrifying branch, That deads the royall Vine whose golden Leaves Empale your Princely head, your Diadem, Whose brightnesse such pernitious Upstarts dim, Say they, and lovingly advise your Grace, To cherish Vertue and Nobility, And have old Servitors in high esteeme, And shake off smooth dissembling Flatterers: This granted, they, their honours, and their lives, Are to your Highnesse vow'd and consecrate.
Spen. A Traytors, will they still display their pride?
Edw. Away, tarry no answere but be gone, Rebels, will they appoint their Soveraigne His sports, his pleasures, and his company? Yet ere thou goe, see how I doe divorce Embrace Spencer. Spencer from me: now get thee to thy Lords, And tell them I will come to chastise them, For murthering Gaveston: hie thee, get thee gone, Edward with fire and sword, followes at thy heeles. My Lord, perceive you how these Rebels swell: Souldiers, good hearts, defend your Soveraignes right, For now, even now, we march to make them stoope, Away. Exeunt.
Alarums, Excursions, a great Fight, and a Retreat.
Enter the King, Spencer the father, Spencer the sonne, and the Noblemen of the Kings side.
Edw. Why doe we sound retreat? upon them Lords, This day I shall powre vengeance with my sword On those proud Rebels that are up in armes, And do confront and countermaund their King.
Spen.son. I doubt it not my Lord, right will prevaile.
Spen.fa. Tis not amisse my Liege for either part, To breathe a while, our men with sweat and dust All chockt well neare, begin to faint for heate, And this retire refresheth horse and man.
Spen.son. Heere come the Rebels.
Enter the Barons, Mortimer, Lancaster, Warwicke, Penbrooke, cum cæteris.
Mor. Looke Lancaster, yonder is Edward among his flatterers.
Lan. And there let him bee, till hee pay deerely for their company.
War. And shall, or Warwicks sword shall smite in vaine:
Edw. What Rebels, do you shrinke, and sound retreat?
Mor. No Edward no, thy flatterers faint and flye.
Lan. Th'ad best betimes forsake them and their trains, For theile betray thee, traytors as they are.
Spen.son. Traytor on thy face, rebellious Lancaster.
Pen. Away base Upstart, brav'st thou Nobles thus?
Spen.fa. A noble attempt and honourable deed, Is it not trow ye, to assemble aide, And levie armes against your lawfull King?
Edw. For which ere long their heads shall satisfie, T'appease the wrath of their offended King.
Mor. Then Edward thou wilt fight it to the last, And rather bath thy sword in subjects bloud Then banish that pernitious company.
Edw. I traitours all, rather then thus be brav'd, Make Englands civill Townes huge heapes of stones, And plowes to goe about our Palace gates.
War. A desperate and unnaturall resolution, Alarum to the fight, Saint George for England, And the Barons right.
Edw. S. George for England, and King Edwards right.
Enter Edward, with the Barons captives.
Edw. Now lusty Lords, now not by chance of warre, But justice of the quarrell and the cause Vaild is your pride, me thinkes you hang the heads, But weele advance them Traytos, now tis time To be aveng'd on you for all your braves, And for the murther of my deerest friend, To whom right well you knew our soule was knit, Good Pierce of Gaveston my sweet favorit, Ah Rebels, Recreants, you made him away.
Edm. Brother, in regard of thee and of thy Land, Did they remove that Flatterer from thy Throne.
Edw. So sir, you have spoke, away, avoid our presence, Accursed wretches, wast in regard of us, When we had sent our Messenger to request He might be spar'd to come to speake with us, And Penbrooke undertooke for his returne, That thou proud Warwicke watcht the prisoner, Poore Peirce, and headed him 'gainst law of armes, For which thy head shall overlooke the rest, As much as thou in rage out went'st the rest.
War. Tyrant, I scorne thy threats and menaces, Tis but temporall that thou canst inflict.
Lan. The worst is death, and better dye to live, Then live in infamy under such a King.
Edw. Away with them: my Lord of Winchester, These lusty Leaders Warwicke and Lancaster, I charge you roundly off with both their heads, away.
War. Farewell vaine world.
Lan. Sweete Mortimer farewell.
Mor.. England unkinde to thy Nobility, Grone for this griefe, behold how thou art maimed.
Edw. Goe take that haughty Mortimer to the Tower, There see him safe bestowed and for the rest, Doe speedy execution on them all, be gone.
Mor. What Mortimer? can ragged stony walles Immure thy vertue that aspires to Heaven, No Edward Englands scourge, it may not be,
Mortimers hope surmounts his fortune farre.
Ed. Sound Drums and Trumpets, march with me my friends, Edward this day hath crown'd him King anew. Exit.
Manent Spencer filius, Lewne and Baldock.
Spen. Lewen, the trust that we repose in thee, Begets the quiet of King Edwards Land, Therefore be gone in hast, and with advice, Bestow that Treasure on the Lords of France, That therewithall enchanted like the Guard That suffered Jove to passe in showers of Gold To Danae, all aid may be denyed To Isabell the Queene, that now in France Makes friends, to crosse the Seas with her young sonne, And step into his fathers Regiment.
Lew. Thats it these Barons and the subtill Queene Long levied at.
Bald. Yea, but Lewne thou seest, These Barons lay their heads on blocks together, What they intend the Hangman frustrates cleane.
Lew. Have you no doubt my Lords, Ile claps close, Amoug the Lords of France with Englands Gold, That Isabell shall make her plaints in vaine, And France shall be obdurate with her teares.
Spen. Then make for France, amaine Lewne away, Proclaime King Edwards warres and victories. Exeunt omnes.
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