Be patient, good my lord, cease to lament;
Imagine Killingworth Castle were your court,
And that you lay for pleasure here a space,
Not of compulsion or necessity.

Leicester, if gentle words might comfort me,
Thy speeches long ago had eased my sorrows,
For kind and loving hast thou always been.
The griefs of private men are soon allayed;
But not of kings. The forest deer, being struck,
Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds:
But when the imperial lion’s flesh is gored,
He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw,
And, highly scorning that the lowly earth
Should drink his blood, mounts up to the air:
And so it fares with me, whose dauntless mind
The ambitious Mortimer would seek to curb,
And that unnatural queen, false Isabel,
That thus hath pent and mewed me in a prison
For such outrageous passions cloy my soul,
As with the wings of rancour and disdain
Full often am I soaring up to heaven,
To plain me to the gods against them both.
But when I call to mind I am a king,
Methinks I should revenge me of my wrongs,
That Mortimer and Isabel have done.
But what are kings, when regiment is gone,
But perfect shadows in a sunshine day?
My nobles rule; I bear the name of king,
I wear the crown; but am controlled by them,
By Mortimer, and my unconstant queen,
Who spots my nuptial bed with infamy;
Whilst I am lodged within this cave of care,
Where sorrow at my elbow still attends,
To company my heart with sad laments,
That bleeds within me for this strange exchange.
But tell me, must I now resign my crown,
To make usurping Mortimer a king?

Your grace mistakes; it is for England’s good,
And princely Edward’s right, we crave the crown.

No, ’tis for Mortimer, not Edward’s head;
For he’s a lamb, encompassed by wolves,
Which in a moment will abridge his life.
But, if proud Mortimer do wear this crown,
Heavens turn it to a blaze of quenchless fire!
Or, like the snaky wreath of Tisiphon,
Engirt the temples of his hateful head!
So shall not England’s vine be perished,
But Edward’s name survive, though Edward dies.

My lord, why waste you thus the time away?
They stay your answer: will you yield your crown?

Ah, Leicester, weigh how hardly I can brook
To lose my crown and kingdom without cause;
To give ambitious Mortimer my right,
That, like a mountain, overwhelms my bliss;
In which extreme my mind here murdered is!
But that the heavens appoint I must obey.⁠—
Here, take my crown; the life of Edward too: Taking off the crown.
Two kings in England cannot reign at once.
But stay a while: let me be king till night,
That I may gaze upon this glittering crown;
So shall my eyes receive their last content,
My head, the latest honour due to it,
And jointly both yield up their wished right.
Continue ever, thou celestial sun;
Let never silent night possess this clime;
Stand still, you watches of the element;
All times and seasons, rest you at a stay,
That Edward may be still fair England’s king!
But day’s bright beams doth vanish fast away,
And needs I must resign my wished crown.
Inhuman creatures, nursed with tiger’s milk,
Why gape you for your sovereign’s overthrow?
My diadem, I mean, and guiltless life.
See, monsters, see! I’ll wear my crown again. Putting on the crown.
What, fear you not the fury of your king?⁠—
But, hapless Edward, thou art fondly led;
They pass not for thy frowns as late they did,
But seek to make a new-elected king;
Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts,
Which thoughts are martyred with endless torments;
And in this torment comfort find I none,
But that I feel the crown upon my head;
And therefore let me wear it yet a while.

My, lord, the parliament must have present news;
And therefore say, will you resign or no?

The king rageth. I’ll not resign, not whilst I live.
Traitors, be gone, and join you with Mortimer.
Elect, conspire, install, do what you will:
Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries!

Call them again, my lord, and speak them fair;
For, if they go, the prince shall lose his right.

O, would I might! but heavens and earth conspire
To make me miserable. Here, receive my crown.
Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine
Shall not be guilty of so foul a crime;
He of you all that most desires my blood,
And will be called the murderer of a king,
Take it. What, are you moved? pity you me?
Then send for unrelenting Mortimer,
And Isabel, whose eyes being turned to steel
Will sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear.
Yet stay; for, rather than I’ll look on them,
Here, here! Gives the crown.
Now, sweet God of heaven,
Make me despise this transitory pomp,
And sit for aye enthronised in heaven!
Come, death, and with thy fingers close my eyes,
Or, if I live, let me forget myself!

Call me not lord; away, out of my sight!
Ah, pardon me! grief makes me lunatic.
Let not that Mortimer protect my son;
More safety there is in a tiger’s jaws
Than his embracements. Bear this to the queen,
Wet with my tears, and dried again with sighs: Gives a handkerchief.
If with the sight thereof she be not moved,
Return it back, and dip it in my blood.
Commend me to my son, and bid him rule
Better than I: yet how have I transgressed,
Unless it be with too much clemency?

Farewell; I know the next news that they bring
Will be my death; and welcome shall it be:
To wretched men death is felicity.

Such news as I expect.⁠—Come, Berkeley, come,
And tell thy message to my naked breast.

My lord, think not a thought so villainous
Can harbour in a man of noble birth.
To do your highness service and devoir,
And save you from your foes, Berkeley would die.

My lord, the council of the queen command
That I resign my charge.

Taking the paper. By Mortimer, whose name is written here!
Well may I rent his name that rends my heart. Tears it.
This poor revenge hath something eased my mind:
So may his limbs be torn as is this paper!
Hear me, immortal Jove, and grant it too!

Whither you will: all places are alike,
And every earth is fit for burial.

Mine enemy hath pitied my estate,
And that’s the cause that I am now removed.

I know not; but of this am I assured,
That death ends all, and I can die but once.⁠—
Leicester, farewell.

Fair Isabel, now have we our desire;
The proud corrupters of the light-brained king
Have done their homage to the lofty gallows,
And he himself lies in captivity.
Be ruled by me, and we will rule the realm:
In any case take heed of childish fear,
For now we hold an old wolf by the ears,
That, if he slip, will seize upon us both,
And gripe the sorer, being griped himself.
Think therefore, madam, that imports us much
To erect your son with all the speed we may,
And that I be protector over him:
For our behoof, ’twill bear the greater sway
Whenas a king’s name shall be under-writ.

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 dear as these mine eyes,
Conclude against his father what thou wilt,
And I myself will willingly subscribe.

First would I hear news he were deposed,
And then let me alone to handle him.

Thanks, gentle Winchester.⁠—
Sirrah, be gone.

Further, or this letter was sealed, Lord Berkeley came,
So that he now is gone from Killingworth;
And we have heard that Edmund laid a plot
To set his brother free; nor more but so.
The Lord of Berkeley is so pitiful
As Leicester that had charge of him before.

Let me alone; here is the privy-seal.

To Attendants within. Who’s there? Call hither, Gurney and Matrevis.⁠—

To dash the heavy-headed Edmund’s drift,
Berkeley shall be discharged, the king removed,
And none but we shall know where he lieth.

But, Mortimer, as long as he survives,
What safety rests for us or for my son?

I would he were, so ’twere not by my means!

Enough.⁠—Matrevis, write a letter presently
Unto the Lord of Berkeley from ourself,
That he resign the king to thee and Gurney;
And, when ’tis done, we will subscribe our name.

It shall be done, my lord. Writes.

As thou intend’st to rise by Mortimer,
Who now makes Fortune’s wheel turn as he please,
Seek all the means thou canst to make him droop,
And neither give him kind word nor good look.

And this above the rest: because we hear
That Edmund casts to work his liberty,
Remove him still from place to place by night,
Till at the last he come to Killingworth,
And then from thence to Berkeley back again;
And by the way, to make him fret the more,
Speak curstly to him; and in any case
Let no man comfort him, if he chance to weep,
But amplify his grief with bitter words.

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. Gives ring.

I will, madam. Exit with Gurney.

Finely dissembled! do so still, sweet queen.
Here comes the young prince with the Earl of Kent.

Something he whispers in his childish ears.

If he have such access unto the prince,
Our plots and stratagems will soon be dashed.

You, being his uncle and the next of blood,
Do look to be protector o’er the prince.

Not I, my lord: who should protect the son,
But she that gave him life? I mean the queen.

Mother, persuade me not to wear the crown:
Let him be king; I am too young to reign.

Inconstant Edmund, dost thou favour him,
That wast a cause of his imprisonment?

Aside to Queen Isabella. I tell thee, ’tis not meet that one so false
Should come about the person of a prince.⁠—
My lord, he hath betrayed the king his brother,
And therefore trust him not.

Why, youngling, ’sdain’st thou so of Mortimer?
Then I will carry thee by force away.

Brother Edmund, strive not; we are his friends;
Isabel is nearer than the Earl of Kent.

Aside. Mortimer shall know that he hath wronged me.
Hence will I haste to Killingworth Castle,
And rescue aged Edward from his foes,
To be revenged on Mortimer and thee.

My lord, be not pensive; we are your friends:
Men are ordained to live in misery;
Therefore, come; dalliance dangereth our lives.

Friends, whither must unhappy Edward go?
Will hateful Mortimer appoint no rest?
Must I be vexed like the nightly bird,
Whose sight is loathsome to all winged fowls?
When will the fury of his mind assuage?
When will his heart be satisfied with blood?
If mine will serve, unbowel straight this breast,
And give my heart to Isabel and him:
It is the chiefest mark they level at.

Not so, my liege: the queen hath given this charge,
To keep your grace in safety:
Your passions make your dolours to increase.

This usage makes my misery increase.
But can my air of life continue long,
When all my senses are annoyed with stench?
Within a dungeon England’s king is kept,
Where I am starved for want of sustenance;
My daily diet is heartbreaking sobs,
That almost rent the closet of my heart:
Thus lives old Edward not relieved by any,
And so must die, though pitied by many.
O, water, gentle friends, to cool my thirst,
And clear my body from foul excrements!

Here’s channel-water, as our charge is given:
Sit down, for we’ll be barbers to your grace.

Traitors, away! what, will you murder me,
Or choke your sovereign with puddle-water?

No, but wash your face, and shave away your beard,
Lest you be known, and so be rescued.

f The wren may strive against the lion’s strength,
But all in vain: so vainly do I strive
To seek for mercy at a tyrant’s hand.

Immortal powers, that know the painful cares
That wait upon my poor distressed soul,
O, level all your looks upon these daring men
That wrong their liege and sovereign, England’s king!
O Gaveston, it is for thee that I am wronged!
For me both thou and both the Spensers died;
And for your sakes a thousand wrongs I’ll take.
The Spensers’ ghosts, wherever they remain,
Wish well to mine; then, tush, for them I’ll die.

’Twixt theirs and yours shall be no enmity.
Come, come, away! Now put the torches out:
We’ll enter in by darkness to Killingworth.

Where is the court but here? here is the king
And I will visit him: why stay you me?

The court is where Lord Mortimer remains:
Thither shall your honour go; and so, farewell.

O, miserable is that commonweal,
Where lords keep courts, and kings are locked in prison!

Ay, lead me whither you will, even to my death,
Seeing that my brother cannot be released.

The king must die, or Mortimer goes down;
The commons now begin to pity him:
Yet he that is the cause of Edward’s death,
Is sure to pay for it when his son’s of age;
And therefore will I do it cunningly.
This letter, written by a friend of ours,
Contains his death, yet bids then save his life.
Reads. “Edwardum occidere nolite timere, bonum est,
Fear not to kill the king, ’tis good he die.”
But read it thus, and that’s another sense;
“Edwardum occidere nolite, timere bonum est,
Kill not the king, ’tis good to fear the worst.”
Unpointed as it is, thus shall it go.
That, being dead, if it chance to be found,
Matrevis and the rest may bear the blame,
And we be quit that caused it to be done.
Within this room is locked the messenger
That shall convey it, and perform the rest;
And, by a secret token that he bears,
Shall he be murdered when the deed is done.⁠—
Lightborn, come forth!

You shall not need to give instructions;
’Tis not the first time I have killed a man:
I learned in Naples how to poison flowers;
To strangle with a lawn thrust down the throat;
To pierce the wind pipe with a needle’s point;
Or, whilst one is asleep, to take a quill,
And blow a little powder in his ears;
Or open his mouth, and pour quicksilver down.
But yet I have a braver way than these.

I care not how it is, so it be not spied.
Deliver this to Gurney and Matrevis: Gives letter.
At every ten-mile end thou hast a horse:
Take this: Gives money. away, and never see me more!

The prince I rule, the queen do I command,
And with a lowly congé to the ground
The proudest lords salute me as I pass;
I seal, I cancel, I do what I will.
Feared am I more than loved;⁠—let me be feared,
And, when I frown, make all the court look pale.
I view the prince with Aristarchus’ eyes,
Whose looks 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 council-table, grave enough,
And not unlike a bashful puritan,
First I complain of imbecility,
Saying it is onus quam gravissimum;
Till, being interrupted by my friends,
Suscepi that provinciam, as they term it;
And, to conclude, I am Protector now.
Now all is sure: the queen and Mortimer
Shall rule the realm, the king; and none rule us.
Mine enemies will I plague, my friends advance;
And what I list command who dare control?
Major sum quam cui possit fortuna nocere:
And that this be the coronation-day,
It pleaseth me and Isabel the queen. Trumpets within.
The trumpets sound; I must go take my place.

Long live King Edward, by the grace of God
King of England and Lord of Ireland!

If any Christian, Heathen, Turk, or Jew,
Dares but affirm that Edward’s not true king,
And will avouch his saying with the sword,
I am the Champion that will combat him.

’A would have taken the king away perforce,
As we were bringing him to Killingworth.

Mortimer, I did: he is our king,
And thou compell’st this prince to wear the crown.

Sweet mother, if I cannot pardon him,
Entreat my Lord Protector for his life.

Nor I; and yet methinks I should command:
But, seeing I cannot, I’ll entreat for him.⁠—
My lord, if you will let my uncle live,
I will requite it when I come to age.

’Tis for your highness’ good and for the realm’s.⁠—
How often shall I bid you bear him hence?

Let me but stay and speak; I will not go:
Either my brother or his son is king,
And none of both them thirst for Edmund’s blood:
And therefore, soldiers, whither will you hale me?

What safety may I look for at his hands,
If that my uncle shall be murdered thus?

Fear not, sweet boy; I’ll guard thee from thy foes:
Had Edmund lived, he would have sought thy death.
Come, son, we’ll ride a-hunting in the park.

Gurney, I wonder the king dies not,
Being in a vault up to the knees in water,
To which the channels of the castle run,
From whence a damp continually ariseth,
That were enough to poison any man,
Much more a king, brought up so tenderly.

And so do I, Matrevis: yesternight
I opened but the door to throw him meat,
And I was almost stifled with the savour.

He hath a body able to endure
More than we can inflict: and therefore now
Let us assail his mind another while.

But stay; who’s this?

Gurney, it was left unpointed for the nonce;
“Edwardum occidere nolite timere,”
That’s his meaning.

Ay, stay a while; thou shalt have answer straight.⁠—
Aside. This villain’s sent to make away the king.

Aside. And when the murder’s done,
See how he must be handled for his labour⁠—
Pereat iste! Let him have the king;

What else?⁠—Here is the keys, this is the lake:
Do as you are commanded by my lord.

I know what I must do. Get you away:
Yet be not far off; I shall need your help:
See that in the next room I have a fire,
And get me a spit, and let it be red-hot.

So, now.
Must I about this gear: ne’er was there any
So finely handled as this king shall be.⁠—
Foh, here’s a place indeed with all my heart!

Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks:
Villain, I know thou com’st to murder me.

To murder you, my most gracious lord?
Far is it from my heart to do you harm.
The queen sent me to see how you were used,
For she relents at this your misery:
And what eye can refrain from shedding tears,
To see a king in this most piteous state?

Weep’st thou already? list a while to me,
And then thy heart, were it as Gurney’s is,
Or as Matrevis’, hewn from the Caucasus,
Yet will it melt ere I have done my tale.
This dungeon where they keep me is the sink
Wherein the filth of all the castle falls.

And there, in mire and puddle, have I stood
This ten days’ space; and, lest that I should sleep,
One plays continually upon a drum;
They give me bread and water, being a king;
So that, for want of sleep and sustenance,
My mind’s distempered, and my body’s numbed,
And whether I have limbs or no I know not.
O, would my blood dropped out from every vein,
As doth this water from my tattered robes!
Tell Isabel the queen, I looked not thus,
When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,
And there unhorsed the Duke of Cleremont.

O, speak no more, my lord! this breaks my heart.
Lie on this bed, and rest yourself a while.

These looks of thine can harbour naught but death;
I see my tragedy written in thy brows.
Yet stay a while; forbear thy bloody hand,
And let me see the stroke before it comes,
That even then when I shall lose my life,
My mind may be more steadfast on my God.

These hands were never stained with innocent blood,
Nor shall they now be tainted with a king’s.

Forgive my thought for having such a thought.
One jewel have I left; receive thou this. Gives jewel.
Still fear I, and I know not what’s the cause,
But every joint shakes as I give it thee.
O, if thou harbour’st murder in thy heart,
Let this gift change thy mind, and save thy soul!
Know that I am a king: O, at that name
I feel a hell of grief! where is my crown?
Gone, gone! and do I still remain alive?

But that grief keeps me waking, I should sleep;
For not these ten days have these eyelids closed.
Now, as I speak, they fall; and yet with fear
Open again. O, wherefore sittest thou here?

No, no; for, if thou mean’st to murder me,
Thou wilt return again; and therefore stay. Sleeps.

Waking. O, let me not die yet! O, stay a while!

Something still buzzeth in mine ears,
And tells me, if I sleep, I never wake:
This fear is that which makes me tremble thus;
And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come?

I am too weak and feeble to resist.⁠—
Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul!

So, lay the table down, and stamp on it,
But not too hard, lest that you bruise his body.

I fear me that this cry will raise the town,
And therefore let us take horse and away.

Excellent well: take this for thy reward. Stabs Lightborn, who dies.
Come, let us cast the body in the moat,
And bear the king’s to Mortimer our lord:
Away!

Is’t done, Matrevis, and the murderer dead?

Matrevis, if thou now grow’st penitent,
I’ll be thy ghostly father; therefore choose,
Whether thou wilt be secret in this,
Or else die by the hand of Mortimer.

Gurney, my lord, is fled, and will, I fear,
Betray us both; therefore let me fly.

As for myself, I stand as Jove’s huge tree,
And others are but shrubs compared to me:
All tremble at my name, and I fear none:
Let’s see who dare impeach me for his death!

Ah, Mortimer, the king my son hath news,
His father’s dead, and we have murdered him!

Ay, 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.
Ay me, see where he comes, and they with him!
Now, Mortimer, begins our tragedy.

Think not that I am frighted with thy words:
My father’s murdered through thy treachery;
And thou shalt die, and on his mournful hearse
Thy hateful and accursed head shall lie,
To witness to the world that by thy means
His kingly body was too soon interred.

Forbid not me to weep; he was my father;
And had you loved him half so well as I,
You could not bear his death thus patiently:
But you, I fear, conspired with Mortimer.

Because I think scorn to be accused.
Who is the man dares say I murdered him?

Traitor, in me my loving father speaks,
And plainly saith, ’twas thou that murderedst him.

Ah, Mortimer, thou know’st that he is slain!
And so shalt thou be too.⁠—Why stays he here?
Bring him unto a hurdle, drag him forth;
Hang him, I say, and set his quarters up:
And bring his head back presently to me.

Madam, entreat not: I will rather die
Than sue for life unto a paltry boy.

Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy wheel
There is a point, to which when men aspire,
They tumble headlong down: that point I touched,
And, seeing there was no place to mount up higher,
Why should I grieve at my declining fall?⁠—
Farewell, fair queen: weep not for Mortimer,
That scorns the world, and, as a traveller,
Goes to discover countries yet unknown.

As thou receivest thy life from me,
Spill not the blood of gentle Mortimer!

This argues that you spilt my father’s blood,
Else would you not entreat for Mortimer.

That rumour is untrue: for loving thee,
Is this report raised on poor Isabel.

Mother, you are suspected for his death
And therefore we commit you to the Tower,
Till further trial may be made thereof.
If you be guilty, though I be your son,
Think not to find me slack or pitiful.

Nay, to my death; for too long have I lived,
Whenas my son thinks to abridge my days.

Away with her! her words enforce these tears,
And I shall pity her, if she speak again.

Shall I not mourn for my beloved lord?
And with the rest accompany him to his grave.

My lord, here is the head of Mortimer.

Go fetch my father’s hearse, where it shall lie;
And bring my funeral robes.

Accursed head,
Could I have ruled thee then, as I do now,
Thou hadst not hatched this monstrous treachery!⁠—
Here comes the hearse: help me to mourn, my lords.

Sweet father, here unto thy murdered ghost
I offer up the wicked traitor’s head;
And let these tears, distilling from mine eyes,
Be witness of my grief and innocency.