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Make England's civil towns huge heaps of stones,
And ploughs to go about our palace-gates.

War. A desperate and unnatural resolution!
Alarum !-to the fight!


St. George for England, and the barons' right. Edw. St. George for England, and King Edward's [Alarums. Exeunt.


Re-enter EDWARD and his followers, with the Barons and KENT, captives.

Edw. Now, lusty lords, now, not by chance of war,
But justice of the quarrel and the cause,

Vailed is your pride; methinks you hang the heads,
But we'll advance them, traitors; now 'tis time
To be avenged on you for all your braves,
And for the murder of my dearest friend,
To whom right well you knew our soul was knit,
Good Pierce of Gaveston, my sweet favourite :
Ah, rebels! recreants! you made him away.

Kent. 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


Accursed wretches, was't in regard of us,

[Exit KENT.

When we had sent our messenger to request
He might be spared to come to speak with us,
And Pembroke undertook for his return,
That thou, proud Warwick, watched the prisoner,
Poor Pierce, and headed him 'gainst law of arms;


For which thy head shall overlook the rest,
As much as thou in rage outwent'st the rest.

War. Tyrant, I scorn thy threats and menaces,
It is but temporal that thou canst inflict.

Lan. The worst is death, and better die to live
Than live in infamy under such a king.

Edw. Away with them, my lord of Winchester!
These lusty leaders, Warwick and Lancaster,
I charge you roundly-off with both their heads!

War. Farewell, vain world!

Lan. Sweet Mortimer, farewell.

Y. Mor. England, unkind to thy nobility,

Groan for this grief, behold how thou art maimed !

Edw. Go, take that haughty Mortimer to the Tower, There see him safe bestowed; and for the rest, Do speedy execution on them all.


Y. Mor. What, Mortimer! can ragged stony walls
Immure thy virtue that aspires to heaven?

No, Edward, England's scourge, it may not be,
Mortimer's hope surmounts his fortune far.



[The captive Barons are led off.

Edw. Sound drums and trumpets! March with me,

my friends,

Edward this day hath crowned him king anew.

[Exeunt all except YOUNG


Y. Spen. Levune, the trust that we repose in thee,

Begets the quiet of King Edward's land.
Therefore begone in haste, and with advice
Bestow that pleasure on the lords of France,
That, therewith all enchanted, like the guard
That suffered Jove to pass in showers of gold
To Danae, all aid may be denied

To Isabel, the queen, that now in France
Makes friends, to cross the seas with her young son,
And step into his father's regiment.1

Levune. That's it these barons and the subtle queen Long levelled 2 at.

Bal. Yea, but, Levune, thou seest


These barons lay their heads on blocks together;

What they intend, the hangman frustrates clean.


Levune. Have you no doubt, my lords, I'll clap 3 so


Among the lords of France with England's gold,

That Isabel shall make her plaints in vain,

And France shall be obdurate with her tears.

Y. Spen. Then make for France, amain-Levune, away!

Proclaim King Edward's wars and victories.

[Exeunt omnes.

1 Rule.

2 Old eds. "leuied." 3 Old eds. "claps close."



Enter 1 KENT.

Kent. Fair blows the wind for France; blow gentle


Till Edmund be arrived for England's good!
Nature, yield to my country's cause in this.

A brother? no, a butcher of thy friends!

Proud Edward, dost thou banish me thy presence?
But I'll to France, and cheer the wrongèd queen,
And certify what Edward's looseness is.
Unnatural king! to slaughter noblemen
And cherish flatterers! Mortimer, I stay

Thy sweet escape; stand gracious, gloomy night,
To his device.

Enter YOUNG MORTIMER, disguised.

Y. Mor. Holla! who walketh there?

Is't you, my lord?

Kent. Mortimer, 'tis I;

But hath thy portion wrought so happily?

1 Scene: London, near the Tower.



Y. Mor. It hath, my lord; the warders all asleep, I thank them, gave me leave to pass in peace.

But hath your grace got shipping unto France?

Kent. Fear it not.



Enter1 the QUEEN and her Son.

Queen. Ah, boy! our friends do fail us all in France :
The lords are cruel, and the king unkind;
What shall we do? 2

Prince. Madam, return to England,
And please my father well, and then a fig
For all my uncle's friendship here in France.
I warrant you, I'll win his highness quickly;
He loves me better than a thousand Spencers.

Queen. Ah, boy, thou art deceived, at least in this,
To think that we can yet be tuned together;
No, no, we jar too far. Unkind Valois !
Unhappy Isabel! when France rejects,

Whither, oh! whither dost thou bend thy steps?

Enter SIR JOHN of Hainault.

Sir J. Madam, what cheer?

Queen. Ah! good Sir John of Hainault,

Never so cheerless, nor so far distrest.

Sir J. I hear, sweet lady, of the king's unkindness; But droop not, madam; noble minds contemn

1 Scene: Paris.

* So eds. 1598, 1622.-Ed. 1612 "goe."


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