ISABELLA

Farewell sweet Mortimer, and for my sake, Forbear to levy arms against the king. Whither goes my lord? On whom but on my husband should I fawn? In saying this, thou wrongest me Gaveston, Is't not enough, that thou corrupts my lord, And art a bawd to his affections, But thou must call mine honour thus in question? Your highness knows, it lies not in my power. Villain, 'tis thou that robbest me of my lord. Wherein my lord, have I deserved these words? Witness the tears that Isabella sheds, Witness this heart, that sighing for thee breaks, How deer my lord is to poor Isabel. Oh miserable and distressed Queen! Would when I left sweet France and was embarked, That charming Circe's walking on the waves, Had changed my shape, or at the marriage day The cup of Hymen had been full of poison, Or with those arms that twinned about my neck, I had been stifled, and not lived to see, The king my lord thus to abandon me: Like frantic Juno will I fill the earth, With ghastly murmur of my sighs and cries, For never doted Jove on Ganymede, So much as he on cursed Gaveston, But that will more exasperate his wrath, I must entreat him, I must speak him fair, And be a means to call home Gaveston : And yet heel ever dote on Gaveston, And so am I for ever miserable. Ah Mortimer! now breaks the kings hate forth, And he confesses that he loves me not. No, rather will I die a thousand death's, And yet I love in vain, heel never love me. Oh never Lancaster! I am inioynde, To sue unto you all for his repeal: This wills my lord, and this must I perform, Or else be banished from his highness presence. I Mortimer, for till he be restored, The angry king hath banished me the court: And therefore as thou love and tenderest me, Be thou my advocate unto these peers. Oh Lancaster, let him dissuade the king, For 'tis against my will he should return. 'Tis for my self I speak, and not for him. Sweet Mortimer, fit down by me a while, And I will tell thee reasons of such waighte, As thou wilt soon subscribe to his repeal. Then thus, but none shall hear it but our selves. Yet good my lord, hear what he can allege. And when this favour Isabel forgets, Then let her live abandoned and forlorn, But see in happy time, my lord the king, Having brought the Earl of Cornwall on his way, Is new returned, this news will glad him much, Yet not so much as me, I love him more Then he can Gaveston, would he loved me But half so much, then were I Triple blessed. Hark how he harps upon his minion. My gracious lord, I come to bring you news. That Gaveston my Lord shall be repealed. But will you love me, if you find it so? For Gaveston, but not for Isabel. No other jewels hang about my neck Then these my lord, nor let me have more wealth, Then I may fetch from this rich treasury: Oh how a kiss revives poor Isabel. And may it prove more happy then the first, My gentle lord, be speak these nobles fair, That wait attendance for a gracious look, And on their knees salute your majesty. Now is the king of England rich and strong. Having the love of his renowned peers. Sweet husband be content, they all love you. Aye me poor soul when these begin to jar. Ah surious Mortimer what hast thou done? My lord, 'tis thought, the Earls are up in arms. Thus do you still suspect me without cause. Your pardon is quickly God of Isabel. No farewell, to poor Isabel, thy Queen? Heavens can witness, I love none but you, From my embracements thus he breaks away, Oh that mine arms could close this I'll about, That I might pull him to me where I would, Or that these tears that drissell from mine eyes, Had power to mollify his stony heart, That when I had him we might never partly. I Mortimer, the miserable Queen, Whose pining heart, her inward sighs have blasted, And body with continual Morning wasted: These hands are tired, with haling of my lord From Gaveston, from wicked Gaveston, And all in vain, for when I speak him fair, He turns away, and smiles upon his minion. What would you with the king, is't him you seek? He's gone by water unto Scarborough, Pursue him quickly, and he cannot escape, The king hath left him, and his train is small. That this your army going several ways, Might be of lesser source, and with the power That he intends presently to raise, Be easily suppressed: and therefore be gone. No Mortimer, isle to my lord the king. You know the king is so suspicious, As if he hear I have but talked with you, Mine honour will be called in question, And therefore gentle Mortimer be gone. So well hast thou deseru'de sweet Mortimer, As Isaebell could live with thee for ever, In vain I look for love at Edwards hand, Whose eyes are fixed on none but Gaveston : Yet once more isle importune him with prayers, If he be strange and not regard my words, My son and I will over into France, And to the king my brother there complain, How Gaveston hath robbed me of his love: But yet I hope my sorrows will have end, And Gaveston this blessed day be slain. Exeunt. News of dishonour lord, and discontent, Our friend Lewne, faithful and full of trust, Informeth us, by letters and by words, That lord Valoyes our brother, king of France, Because your highness hath been slack in homage, Hath seized Normandy into his hands, These be the letters, this the messenger. A boy, this towardness makes thy mother fear Thou art not marked to many days on earth. Unnatural wars, where subjects brave their king, God end them once, my lord I take my leave, To make my preparation for France. A boy, our friends do fail us all in France, The lords are cruel, and the king unkind, What shall we do? A boy, thou art deceiude at least in this, To think that we can yet be tuned together, No, no, we war too far, unkind Valois, Unhappy Isabel, when France rejects, Whither, Oh whither dost thou bend thy steps. A good sir John of Henolt, Never so cheereles, nor so far distressed. O my sweet heart, how do I moan thy wrongs? Yet triumph in the hope of thee my joy, Ah sweet sir John, even to the utmost verge Of Europe, or the shore of Tanaise, Will we with thee to Henolt, so we will, The Marks is a noble Gentleman, His grace I dare presume will welcome me, But who are these? Lord Edmund and lord Mortimer alive, Welcome to France: the news was here my lord, That you were dead, or very near your death. Not son, why not? I would it were no worse, But gentle lords, friendless we are in France. Nay soune, not so, and you must not discourage Your friends that are so forward in your aid. Yea gentle brother, and the God of heaven, Prosper your happy motion good sir John. Now lords, our loving friends and countrymen, Welcome to England all with prosperous winds, Our kindest friends in Belgia have we left, To cope with friends at home: a heavy case, When force to force is knit and sword and gleave, In civil broils makes kin and country men, Slaughter themselves in others and their sides With their own weapons gorde, but whats the help? Misgoverned kings are cause of all this wrack, And Edward thou art one among them all, Whose looseness hath betrayed thy land to spoil, And made the channels overflow with blood, Of thine own people patron ̄ shouldst thou be, but thou. Successful battles gives the God of kings, To them that fight in right and fear his wrath: Since then successfully we have prevailed, Thanks be heavens great architect and you, Ere farther we proceed my noble lords, We here create our well-beloved son, Of love and care unto his royal person, Lord warden of the realm, and sith the fates Have made his father so infortunate, Deal you my lords in this, my loving lords, As to your wisdoms fittest seems in all. My lord, the Mayor of Bristol knows our mind. Baldock is with the king, A goodly chancellor, is he not my lord? We thank you all. I rue my lords ill fortune, but alas, Care of my country called me to this war. Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabel, Be thou persuaded, that I love thee well, And therefore so the prince my son be safe, Whom I esteem as deer as these mine eyes, Conclude against his father what thou wilt, And I my self will willingly subscribe. How fares my lord the king? Oh happy news, send for the prince my son. Then let some other be his guardian. But Mortimer, as long as he survives What safety rests for us, or for my son? Whither goes this letter, to my lord the king? Commend me humbly to his Majesty, And tell him, that I labour all in vain, To ease his grief, and work his liberty: And bear him this, as witness of my love. Some thing he whispers in his childish ears. Lord Mortimer, now take him to your charge. Son, be content, I dare not speak a word. Weep not sweet son. Then let him stay, for rather then my lord Shall be oppressed by civil mutinies, I will endure a melancholy life, And let him stollick with his minion. Look Lancaster how passionate he is, And still his mind runs on his minion. Use Edmund friendly, as if all were well. The more my grief. Sweet son come hither, I must talk with thee. No, God forbid. Come son, and go with this gentle Lord and me. Edward is my son, and I will keep him. Fear not sweet boy, isle guard thee from thy foes, Had Edmund lived, he would have sought thy death, Come son, weel ride a hunting in the park. A Mortimer, the king my son hath news, His father's dead, and we have murdered him. I feared as much, murder cannot be hid. For my sake sweet son pity Mortimer. As thou receivedst thy life from me, Spill not the blood of gentle Mortimer. I spill his blood? no. That rumor is untrue, for loving thee, Is this report raised on poor Isabel. Shall I not moorne for my beloved lord? And with the rest accompany him to his graven. Then come sweet death, and rid me of this grief. Alas poor soul, would I could ease his grief, Thanks gentle Winchester, sirrah, be gone. I would he were, so it were not by my means. Well, if my Lord your brother were en largde. But be content, seeing it his highness pleasure. He is a traitor, think not on him, come. I, I, but he tears his hair, and wrings his hands, And vows to be revenged upon us both, Into the council chamber he is gone, To crave the aid and succour of his peers, Aye me, see where he comes, and they with him, Now Mortimer begins our tragedy. Unto the forest gentle Mortimer, To live in grief and baleful discontent, For now my lord the king regards me not, But dotes upon the love of Gaveston, He claps his cheeks, and hangs about his neck, Smiles in his face, and whispers in his ears, And when I come, he frowns, as who should say, Go whither thou wilt seeing I have Gaveston. Brother, you know it is impossible. Brother Edmund, strive not, we are his friends, Isabel is nearer then the earl of Kenned. He hath forgotten me, stay, I am his mother. Nay, to my death, for too long have I lived, When as my son thinks to abridge my days.