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Enter the Herald from the Barons, with his coat of arms. Her. Long live King Edward, England's lawful lord! Edw. So wish not they I wis that sent thee hither. Thou com'st from Mortimer and his 'complices,

A ranker rout of rebels never was.

Well, say thy message.

Her. The barons up in arms, by me salute Your highness with long life and happiness; And bid me say, as 'plainer to your grace, That if without effusion of blood,

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You will this grief have ease and remedy,
That from your princely person you remove

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This Spencer, as a putrefying branch,

That deads the royal vine, whose golden leave[s]
Empale your princely head, your diadem,

Whose brightness such pernicious upstarts dim,

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Say they; and lovingly advise your grace,
To cherish virtue and nobility,

And have old servitors in high esteem,

And shake off smooth dissembling flatterers:

This granted, they, their honours, and their lives,

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Are to your highness vow'd and consecrate'.

Y. Spen. Ah, traitors! will they still display their pride? Edw. Away, tarry no answer, but be gone!

Rebels, will they appoint their sovereign

His sports, his pleasures, and his company?

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Yet, ere thou go, see how I do divorce [Embraces SPENCER.
Spencer from me.-Now get thee to thy lords,
And tell them I will come to chastise them

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For murthering Gauston; hie thee, get thee gone!
Edward with fire and sword follows at thy heels.
My lords, perceive you how these rebels swell?
Soldiers, good hearts, defend your sovereign's right,
For now, e'en now, we march to make them stoop.
Away!
[Exeunt. Alarums, excursions,
a great fight, and a retreat.

SCENE II.-Near Boroughbridge. 1321.

Enter the KING, OLD SPENCER, YOUNG SPENCER, BALDOCK, and LEVUNE.

Edw. Why do we sound retreat? upon them, lords!

This day I shall pour vengeance with
my sword
On those proud rebels that are up in arms,
And do confront and countermand their king.

Y. Spen. I doubt it not, my lord, right will prevail.
O. Spen. 'Tis not amiss, my liege, for either part
To breathe awhile; our men, with sweat and dust
All choked well near, begin to faint for heat;
And this retire refresheth horse and man.

Y. Spen. Here come the rebels.

Enter the Barons, MORTIMER, LANCASTER, WARWICK, PEMBROKE, cum cæteris.

E. Mor. Look, Lancaster, yonder is Edward Among his flatterers.

Lan. And there let him be

Till he pay dearly for their company.

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War. And shall, or Warwick's sword shall smite in vain.
Edw. What, rebels, do you shrink and sound retreat? 15
Y. Mor. No, Edward, no, thy flatterers faint and fly.
Lan. Th'ad best betimes forsake thee, and their trains,
For they'll betray thee, traitors as they are.

Y. Spen. Traitor on thy face, rebellious Lancaster !
Pem. Away, base upstart, bravest thou nobles thus ?
O. Spen. A noble attempt, and honourable deed,
Is it not, trow ye, to assemble aid,

And levy arms against your lawful king!

Edw. For which ere long their heads shall satisfy,
T' appease the wrath of their offended king.

Y. Mor. Then, Edward, thou wilt fight it to the last,
And rather bathe thy sword in subjects' blood,
Than banish that pernicious company?

Edw. Ay, traitors all, rather than thus be braved,
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.

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Edw. St George for England, and King Edward's right. 35 [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,

Vail'd 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 murther of my dearest friend,
To whom right well you knew our soul was knit,
Good Pierce of Gauston, my sweet favourite.
Ah, rebels! recreants! you made him away.
Kent. Bro'er, in regard of thee, and of thy land,
Did they remove that flatterer from thy throne.
Edw. So, sir, y' have spoke; away, avoid our presence!

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[Exit KENT.

Accursed wretch', was't in regard of us,
When we had sent our messenger to request

He might be spared to come to speak with us,
And Penbrooke undertook for his return,
That thou, proud Warwick, watcht 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.

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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.

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

War. Farewell, vain world!

Lan. Sweet Mortimer, farewell.

Y. Mor. England, unkind to thy nobility,

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Groan for this grief, behold how thou art maim'd!

Edw. Go, take that haughty Mortimer to the Tower,

There see him safe bestow'd; and for the rest,
Do speedy execution on them all.

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Begone!

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 crown'd him king anew.

[Exeunt.

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Manent YOUNG SPENCER,
LEVUNE, and BALDOCK.

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 treasure on the lords of France,
That, therewith all enchanted, like the guard
That suff'red Jove to pass in showers of gold
To Danaë, all aid may be denied

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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.

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Levune. That's it these barons and the subtle queen Long level'd 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 so close 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.

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[Exeunt omnes.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Near the Tower. 1324.

Enter KENT.

Kent. Fair blows the wind for France; blow, gentle gale, 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 noble men
And cherish flatterers! Mortimer, I stay

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

Enter YOUNG MORTIMER, disguised.

Y. Mor. Holloa! who walketh there? Is't you, my lord?

Kent. Mortimer, 'tis I;

But hath thy potion wrought so happily?

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[Exeunt.

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 't not.

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Enter 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?

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;
'A 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 HENAULT.

Sir 7. Madam, what cheer?

Queen. Ah, good Sir John of Henault,

Never so cheerless, nor so far distrest.

Sir F. I hear, sweet lady, of the king's unkindness;

But droop not, madam, noble minds contemn

Despair will your grace with me to Henault,

And there stay time's advantage with your son?

How say you, m' lord, will you go with your friends,
And shake off all our fortunes equally?

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Prince. So please the queen, my mother, me it likes:
The King of England, nor the court of France,
Shall have me from my gracious mother's side,

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Till I be strong enough to break a staff;

And then have at the proudest Spencer's head!

Sir J. Well said, my lord.

Queen. Oh, my sweet heart, how do I moan thy wrongs, Yet triumph in the hope of thee, my joy!

Ah, sweet Sir John! e'en to the utmost verge

Of Europe, or the shore of Tanais,

Will we with thee: to Henault so we will :—

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