Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FAMOUS CHRONICLE OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST, by GEORGE PEELE

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FAMOUS CHRONICLE OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST, by GEORGE PEELE Poet's Biography
First Line: My lord lieutenant of glocester, and lord mortimer
Last Line: [exit.
Subject(s): Edward I, King Of England (1239-1307)

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

EDWARD I, King of England, surnamed LONGSHANKS.
EDMUND, Duke of Lancaster, his brother.
GILBERT DE CLARE, Earl of Glocester.
MORTIMER, Earl of March.
EARL OF SUSSEX.
SIR THOMAS SPENCER.
CRESSINGHAM.
JOHN BALIOL, elected King of Scotland.
VERSSES.
LLUELLEN, Prince of Wales.
SIR DAVID OF BRECKNOCK, his brother.
RICE AP MEREDITH.
OWEN AP RICE.
GUENTHER.
FRIAR HUGH AP DAVID.
JACK, his novice.
Harper.
Farmer.
JOHN.
Bishop, English Lords, Scottish Lords, Welsh Barons, Messengers, Soldiers, &c.

QUEEN-MOTHER.
QUEEN ELINOR.
JOAN OF ACON, her daughter.
LADY ELINOR.
MARY, DUCHESS OF LANCASTER.
MAYORESS OF LONDON.
GUENTHIAN, the Friar's wench.
Potter's Wife.
KATHERINE.
Ladies.

Enter the QUEEN-MOTHER attended by GLOCESTER, SUSSEX, MORTIMER, SIR
DAVID, and LADIES.

Q. Mother. My Lord Lieutenant of Glocester, and Lord Mortimer,
To do you honour in your sovereign's eyes,
That, as we hear, is newly come a-land
From Palestine, with all his men-of-war,
(The poor remainder of the royal fleet,
Preserv'd by miracle in Sicil road,)
Go mount your coursers, meet him on the way:
Pray him to spur his steed; minutes are hours,
Until his mother see her princely son
Shining in glory of his safe return.
[Exeunt GLOCESTER and MORTIMER.
Illustrious England, ancient seat of kings,
Whose chivalry hath royaliz'd thy fame,
That sounding bravely through terrestrial vale,
Proclaiming conquests, spoils, and victories,
Rings glorious echoes through the farthest world;
What warlike nation, train'd in feats of arms,
What barbarous people, stubborn, or untam'd,
What climate under the meridian signs,
Or frozen zone under his brumal stage,
Erst have not quak'd and trembled at the name
Of Britain and her mighty conquerors?
Her neighbour realms, as Scotland, Denmark, France,
Aw'd with her deeds, and jealous of her arms,
Have begg'd defensive and offensive leagues.
Thus Europe, rich and mighty in her kings,
Hath fear'd brave England, dreadful in her kings.
And now, t' eternize Albion's champions
Equivalent with Trojans' ancient fame,
Comes lovely Edward from Jerusalem,
Veering before the wind, ploughing the sea;
His stretchèd sails fill'd with the breath of men
That through the world admire his manliness.
And, lo, at last arriv'd in Dover-road,
Longshank[s], your king, your glory, and our son,
With troops of conquering lords and warlike knights,

Like bloody-crested Mars, o'erlooks his host,
Higher than all his army by the head,
Marching along as bright as Phœbus' eyes!
And we, his mother, shall behold our son,
And England's peers shall see their sovereign.

The trumpets sound, and enter the train, viz. KING EDWARD LONGSHANKS'S
maimed Soldiers with head-pieces and garlands on them, every man with his
red-cross on his coat; the Ancient borne in a chair, his garland and his
plumes on his head-piece, his ensign in his hand. Enter, after them, GLOCESTER
and MORTIMER bareheaded, and others, as many as may be. Then enter KING
EDWARD LONGSHANKS, QUEEN ELINOR, JOAN, LANCASTER, and SIGNIOR MONTFORT
(the EARL OF LEICESTER'S prisoner) with CHARLES DE MONTFORT his
brother; Sailors and Soldiers.

Glocester! Edward! O my sweet sons!
[Falls and swoons.
Longsh. Help, ladies!—O ingrateful destiny,
To welcome Edward with this tragedy!
Glocester. Patient, your highness: 'tis but mother's love
Ravish'd with sight of her thrice-valiant sons.—
Madam, amaze not: see his majesty
Return'd with glory from the holy land.
Q. Mother. Brave sons, the worthy champions of our God,
The honourable soldiers of the Highest,
Bear with your mother, whose abundant love
With tears of joy salutes your sweet return
From famous journeys hard and fortunate.
But, lords, alas, how heavy is our loss
Since your departure to these Christian wars!
The king your father, and the prince your son,
And your brave uncle, Almain's emperor,
Ay me, are dead!
Longsh. Take comfort, madam; leave these sad laments:
Dear was my uncle, dearer was my son,
And ten times dearer was my noble father;
Yet, were their lives valu'd at thousand worlds,
They cannot scape th' arrest of dreadful death,
Death that doth seize and summon all alike.
Then, leaving them to heavenly blessedness,
To join in thrones of glory with the just,
I do salute your royal majesty,
My gracious mother-queen, and you, my lords,
Gilbert de Clare, Sussex, and Mortimer,
And all the princely states of England's peers,
With health and honour to your hearts' content.
And welcome, wishèd England, on whose ground
These feet so often have desir'd to tread:
Welcome, sweet queen, my fellow-traveller,
Welcome, sweet Nell, my fellow-mate in arms,
Whose eyes have seen the slaughter'd Saracens
Pil'd in the ditches of Jerusalem:
And lastly welcome, manly followers,
That bear the scars of honour and of arms,
And on your war-drums carry crowns as kings,
Crown mural, naval, and triumphant all;
At view of whom the Turks have trembling fled
Like sheep before the wolves, and Saracens
Have made their cottages in wallèd towns;
But bulwarks had no fence to beat you back.
Lords, these are they will enter brazen gates,
And tear down lime and mortar with their nails:
Embrace them, barons: these have got the name
Of English gentlemen and knights-at-arms;
Not one of these but in the champaign field
Hath won his crown, his collar, and his spurs.
Not Cæsar, leading through the streets of Rome
The captive kings of conquer'd nations,
Was in his princely triumphs honour'd more
Than English Edward in this martial sight.
Countrymen,
Your limbs are lost in service of the Lord,
Which is your glory and your country's fame:
For limbs you shall have living, lordships, lands,
And be my counsellors in war's affairs.
Soldiers, sit down.—Nell, sit thee by my side.—
These be Prince Edward's pompous treasury.
[The QUEEN-MOTHER being set on the one side, and QUEEN
ELINOR on the other, the King sits in the midst, mounted highest, and at
his feet the ensign underneath him.
O glorious Capitol! beauteous senate-house!
Triumphant Edward, how, like sturdy oaks,
Do these thy soldiers circle thee about,
To shield and shelter thee from winter's storms!
Display thy cross, old Aimes of the Vies:
Dub on your drums, tannèd with India's sun,
My lusty western lads: Matrevers, thou
Sound proudly here a perfect point of war
In honour of thy sovereign's safe return.
Thus Longshanks bids his soldiers Bien venu.
[Use drums, trumpets, and ensigns.
O God, my God, the brightness of my day,
How oft hast thou preserv'd thy servant safe,
By sea and land, yea, in the gates of death!
O God, to thee how highly am I bound
For setting me with these on English ground!
One of my mansion-houses will I give
To be a college for my maimèd men,
Where every one shall have an hundred marks
Of yearly pension to his maintenance:
A soldier that for Christ and country fights
Shall want no living whilst King Edward lives.
Lords, you that love me, now be liberal,
And give your largess to these maimèd men.
Q. Mother. Towards this erection doth thy mother give,
Out of her dowry, five thousand pounds of gold,
To find them surgeons to recure their wounds;
And whilst this ancient standard-bearer lives,
He shall have forty pound of yearly fee,
And be my beadsman, father, if you please.
Longsh. Madam, I tell you, England never bred
A better soldier than your beadsman is;
And that the Soldan and his army felt.
Lancaster. Out of the duchy of rich Lancaster,
To find soft bedding for their bruisèd bones,
Duke Edmund gives three thousand pounds.
Longsh. Gramercies, brother Edmund.
Happy is England under Edward's reign,
When men are had so highly in regard
That nobles strive who shall remunerate
The soldiers' resolution with regard.
My Lord of Glocester, what is your benevolence?
Glocester. A thousand marks, an please your majesty.
Longsh. And yours, my Lord of Sussex?
Sussex. Five hundred pound, an please your majesty.
Longsh. What say you, Sir David of Brecknock?
Sir David. To a soldier Sir David cannot be too liberal: yet that I may
give no more than a poor knight is able, and not presume as a mighty earl, I
give, my lord, four hundred, fourscore, and nineteen pounds.—And so, my
Lord of Sussex, I am behind you an ace.
Sussex. And yet, Sir David, ye amble after apace.
Longsh. Well said, David! thou couldst not be a Camber-Briton, if thou
didst not love a soldier with thy heart. Let me see now if my arithmetic will
serve to total the particulars.
Q. Elinor. Why, my lord, I hope you mean I shall be a benefactor to my
fellow-soldiers.
Longsh. And well said, Nell! what wilt thou I set down for thee?
Q. Elinor. Nay, my lord, I am of age to set it down for myself. You
will allow what I do, will you not?
Longsh. That I will, madam, were it to the value of my kingdom.
Q. Elinor. What is the sum, my lord?
Longsh. Ten thousand pounds, my Nell.
Q. Elinor. Then, Elinor, bethink thee of a gift worthy the King of
England's wife and the King of Spain's daughter, and give such a largess that
the chronicles of this land may crake with record of thy liberality.
Parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.
[Makes a cipher.
There, my lord; neither one, two, nor three, but a poor cipher in agrum, to
enrich good fellows, and compound their figure in their kind.
Longsh. Madam, I commend your composition, an argument of your
honourable disposition. Sweet Nell, thou shouldst not be thyself, did not, with
thy mounting mind, thy gift surmount the rest.
Glocester. Call you this ridiculus mus? Marry, sir, this mouse
would make a foul hole in a fair cheese. 'Tis but a cipher in agrum, and it hath
made of ten thousand pounds a hundred thousand pounds.
Lancaster. A princely gift, and worthy memory.
Glocester. My gracious lord, as erst I was assigned Lieutenant to his
majesty, here render I up the crown, left in charge with me by your princely
father King Henry;
Who on his death-bed still did call for you,
And dying will'd to you the diadem.
Longsh. Thanks, worthy lord:
And seeing by doom of heavens it is decreed,
And lawful line of our succession,
Unworthy Edward is become your king,
We take it as a blessing from on high,
And will our coronation be solemniz'd
Upon the fourteenth of December next.
Q. Elinor. Upon the fourteenth of December next!
Alas, my lord, the time is all too short
And sudden for so great solemnity:
A year were scarce enough to set a-work
Tailors, embroiderers, and men of rare device,
For preparation of so great estate.
Trust me, sweet Ned, hardly shall I bethink me
In twenty weeks what fashion robes to wear.
I pray thee, then, defer it till the spring,
That we may have our garments point-device.
I mean to send for tailors into Spain,
That shall confer of some fantastic suits
With those that be our cunning'st Englishmen.
What, let me brave it now or never, Ned!
Longsh. Madam, content ye: would that were greatest care!
You shall have garments to your heart's desire.
I never read but Englishmen excell'd
For change of rare devices every way.
Q. Elinor. Yet, pray thee, Ned, my love, my lord, and king,
My fellow-soldier, and compeer in arms,
Do so much honour to thy Elinor,
To wear a suit that she shall give thy grace;
Of her own cost and workmanship perhaps.
Q. Mother. 'Twill come by leisure, daughter, then, I fear:
Thou'rt too fine-finger'd to be quick at work.
Longsh. 'Twixt us a greater matter breaks no square,
So it be such, my Nell, as may beseem
The majesty and greatness of a king.—
And now, my lords and loving friends,
Follow your general to the court,
After his travels, to repose him then,
There to recount with pleasure what is past
Of war's alarums, showers, and sharpest storms.
[Exeunt all except Q. ELINOR and JOAN.
Q. Elinor. Now, Elinor, now England's lovely queen,
Bethink thee of the greatness of thy state,
And how to bear thyself with royalty
Above the other queens of Christendom;
That Spain reaping renown by Elinor,
And Elinor adding renown to Spain,
Britain may her magnificence admire.—
I tell thee, Joan, what time our highness sits
Under our royal canopy of state,
Glistering with pendants of the purest gold,
Like as our seat were spangled all with stars,
The world shall wonder at our majesty,
As if the daughter of eternal Ops,
Turn'd to the likeness of vermilion fumes,
Where from her cloudy womb the Centaurs leapt,
Were in her royal seat enthronizèd.
Joan. Madam, if Joan thy daughter may advise,
Let not your honour make your manners change.
The people of this land are men of war,
The women courteous, mild, and debonair;
Laying their lives at princes' feet
That govern with familiar majesty.
But if their sovereigns once gin swell with pride,
Disdaining commons' love, which is the strength
And sureness of the richest commonwealth,
That prince were better live a private life
Than rule with tyranny and discontent.
Q. Elinor. Indeed, we count them headstrong Englishmen;
But we shall hold them in a Spanish yoke,
And make them know their lord and sovereign.
Come, daughter, let us home for to provide;
For all the cunning workmen of this isle
In our great chamber shall be set a-work,
And in my hall shall bountifully feed.
My king, like Phœbus, bridegroom-like, shall march
With lovely Thetis to her glassy bed,
And all the lookers-on shall stand amaz'd
To see King Edward and his lovely queen
Sit royally in England's stately throne.
[Exeunt.

Enter LLUELLEN, RICE AP MEREDITH, OWEN AP RICE, with swords and
bucklers, and frieze jerkins.

Lluellen. Come, Rice, and rouse thee for thy country's good:
Follow the man that means to make you great;
Follow Lluellen, rightful Prince of Wales,
Sprung from the loins of great Cadwallader,
Descended from the loins of Trojan Brute.
And though the traitorous Saxons, Normans, Danes,
Have pent the true remains of glorious Troy
Within the western mountains of this isle,
Yet have we hope to climb these stony pales,
When Londoners, as Romans erst, amaz'd,
Shall trembling cry, "Lluellen's at the gate!"
T' accomplish this, thus have I brought you forth
Disguis'd to Milford-Haven: here attend
The landing of the Lady Elinor.
Her stay doth make me muse: the wind stands fair,
And ten days hence we did expect them here.
Neptune, be favourable to my love,
And steer her keel with thy three-forkèd mace,
That from this shore I may behold her sails,
And in mine arms embrace my dearest dear.
Rice ap Mer. Brave Prince of Wales, this honourable match
Cannot but turn to Cambria's common good.
Simon de Montfort, her thrice-valiant son,
That in the barons' wars was general,
Was lov'd and honour'd of the Englishmen:
When they shall hear she's your espousèd wife,
Assure your grace we shall have great supply
To make our roads in England mightily.
Owen ap Rice. What we resolv'd must strongly be perform'd,
Before the king return from Palestine.
Whilst he wins glory at Jerusalem,
Let us win ground upon the Englishmen.
Lluellen. Owen ap Rice, 'tis that Lluellen fears:
I fear me Edward will be come ashore
Ere we can make provision for the war.
But be it as it will, within his court
My brother David is, that bears a face
As if he were my greatest enemy.
He by this craft shall creep into his heart,
And give intelligence from time to time
Of his intentions, drifts, and stratagems.
Here let us rest upon the salt sea shore,
And while our eyes long for our hearts' desires,
Let us, like friends, pastime us on the sands.
Our frolic minds are ominous for good.

Enter FRIAR HUGH AP DAVID, GUENTHIAN in flannel, and JACK.

Friar. Guenthian, as I am true man,
So will I do the best I can;
Guenthian, as I am true priest,
So will I be at thy behest;
Guenthian, as I am true friar,
So will I be at thy desire.
Jack. My master stands too near the fire:
Trust him not, wench; he'll prove a liar.
Lluellen. True man, true friar, true priest, and true knave,
These four in one this trull shall have.
Friar. Here swear I by my shaven crown,
Wench, if I give thee a gay green gown,
I'll take thee up as I laid thee down,
And never bruise nor batter thee.
Jack. O, swear not, master; flesh is frail.—
Wench, when the sign is in the tail,
Mighty is love and will prevail:
This churchman doth but flatter thee.
Lluellen. A pretty worm, and a lusty friar,
Made for the field, not for the quire.

Guenthian. Mas friar, as I am true maid,
So do I hold me well apaid:
'Tis churchman's lay and verity
To live in love and charity;
And therefore ween I, as my creed,
Your words shall company your deed.
Davy, my dear, I yield in all,
Thine own to go and come at call.
Rice ap Mer. And so far forth begins our brawl.
Friar. Then, my Guenthian, to begin,
Sith idleness in love is sin,—
Boy, to the town I will thee hie,
And so return even by and by,
When thou with cakes and muscadine,
And other junkets good and fine,
Hast fill'd thy bottle and thy bag.
Jack. Now, master, as I am true wag,
I will be neither late nor lag,
But go and come with gossip's cheer,
Ere Gib our cat can lick her ear.
For long ago I learn'd in school,
That love's desires and pleasures cool
Sans Ceres' wheat and Bacchus' vine:
Now, master, for the cakes and wine.
[Exit.
Friar. Wench, to pass away the time in glee,
Guenthian, sit thee down by me,
And let our lips and voices meet
In a merry country song.
Guenthian. Friar, I am at beck and bay,
And at thy commandment to sing and say,
And other sports among.
Owen ap Rice. Ay, marry, my lord, this is somewhat like a man's money.
Here's a wholesome Welsh wench, lapt in her flannel, as warm as wool, and as fit
as a pudding for a friar's mouth.

The Friar and GUENTHIAN sing.

Lluellen. Pax vobis, Pax vobis! good fellows, fair fall ye!
Friar. Et cum spiritu tuo! Friends, have you any thing else to say to
the friar?
Owen ap Rice. Much good do you, much good [do] you, my masters,
heartily.
Friar. And you, sir, when ye eat. Have ye any thing else to say to the
friar?
Lluellen. Nothing; but I would gladly know, if mutton be your first
dish, what shall be your last service?
Friar. It may be, sir, I count it physic to feed but on one dish at a
sitting. Sir, would you any thing else with the friar?
Rice ap Mer. O, nothing, sir: but if you had any manners, you might bid
us fall to.
Friar. Nay, an that be the matter, good enough. Is this all ye have to
say to the friar?
Lluellen. All we have to say to you, sir: it may be, sir, we would walk
aside with your wench a little.
Friar. My masters and friends, I am a poor friar, a man of God's
making, and a good fellow as you are, legs, feet, face, and hands, and heart,
from top to toe, of my word, right shape and christendom; and I love a wench as
a wench should be loved; and if you love yourselves, walk, good friends, I pray
you, and let the friar alone with his flesh.
Lluellen. O friar, your holy mother, the Church, teaches you to abstain
from these morsels.—Therefore, my masters, 'tis a deed of charity to remove
this stumbling-block, a fair wench, a shrewd temptation to a friar's conscience.
Guenthian. Friend, if you knew the friar half so well as the Bailey of
Brecknock, you would think you might as soon move Monk Davy into the sea as
Guenthian from his side.
Lluellen. Mass, by your leave, we'll prove.
Guenthian. At your peril, if you move his patience.
Friar. Brother, brother, and my good country-men,—
Lluellen. Countrymen! nay, I cannot think that an English friar will
come so far into Wales barefooted.
Owen ap Rice. That's more than you know; and yet, my lord, he might
ride, having a filly so near.
Friar. Hands off, good countrymen, at few words and fair warnings.
Lluellen. Countrymen! not so, sir; we renounce thee, friar, and refuse
your country.
Friar. Then, brother, and my good friends, hands off, an if you love
your ease.
Rice ap Mer. Ease me no easings: we'll ease you of this carriage.
Friar. Fellow, be gone quickly, or my pikestaff and I will set thee
away with a vengeance.
Lluellen. I am sorry, trust me, to see the Church so unpatient.
Friar. Ye dogs, ouns! do me a shrewd turn and mock me too? flesh and
blood will not bear this. Then rise up, Robert, and say to Richard, Redde
rationem villicationis tuæ. Sir countryman, kinsman, Englishman,
Welshman, you with the wench, return your habeas corpus; here's a
certiorari for your procedendo.
[Attacks them with his staff.
Owen ap Rice. Hold, friar! we are thy countrymen.
Rice ap Mer. Paid, paid! Digon! we are thy countrymen, Mon Dieu!
Friar. My countrymen! nay, marry, sir, shall you not be my countrymen;
you, sir, you, specially you, sir, that refuse the friar and renounce his
country.
Lluellen. Friar, hold thy hands. I swear as I am a gentleman, I am a
Welshman, and so are the rest, of honesty.
Friar. Of honesty, sayest thou? they are neither gentlemen nor Welshmen
that will deny their country.—Come hither, wench; I'll have a bout with
them once more for denying of their country. [Offers to fight.
Rice ap Mer. Friar, thou wottest not what thou sayest: this is the
prince, and we are all his train, disposed to be pleasant with thee a little;
but I perceive, friar, thy nose will bide no jest.
Friar. As much as you will with me, sir, but not at any hand with my
wench: I and Richard my man here, for here contra omnes gentes—but is
this Lluellen, the great Camber-Briton?
Lluellen. It is he, friar: give me thy hand, and gramercies twenty
times. I promise thee thou hast cugelled two as good lessons into my jacket as
ever churchman did at so short warning: the one is, not to be too busy with
another man's cattle; the other, not in haste to deny my country.
Friar. 'Tis pity, my lord, but you should have more of this learning,
you profit so well by it.
Lluellen. 'Tis pity, friar, but thou shouldst be Lluellen's chaplain,
thou edifiest so well; and so shalt thou be, of mine honour: here I entertain
thee, thy boy, and thy trull, to follow my fortune in secula seculorum.

Friar. And Richard my man, sir, an you love me,—he that stands by me
and shrunk not at all weathers; and then you have me in my colours.
Lluellen. Friar, agreed.—Rice, welcome the ruffians.

Enter the Harper and JACK.

Harper. [singing to the tune of "Who list to lead a soldier's
life."]
Go to, go to, you Britons all,
And play the men, both great and small:
A wondrous matter hath befall,
That makes the prophet cry and call,
Tum date dite dote dum,
That you must march, both all and some,
Against your foes with trump and drum:
I speak to you from God, that you shall overcome.
[With a turn both ways.
Lluellen. What now? Who have we here? "Tum date dite dote dum"!
Friar. What, have we a fellow dropt out of the element? What's he for a
man?
Rice ap Mer. Knowest thou this goose-cap?
Friar. What, not Morgan Pigot, our good Welsh prophet? O, 'tis a holy
harper!
Rice ap Mer. A prophet, with a murrian! Good my lord, let's hear a few
of his lines, I pray you.
Jack. My lords, 'tis an odd fellow, I can tell you, as any is in all
Wales. He can sing, rhyme with reason, and rhyme without reason, and without
reason or rhyme.
Lluellen. The devil, he can! Rhyme with reason, and rhyme without
reason, and reason without rhyme! Then, good Morgan Pigot, pluck out thy spigot,
and draw us a fresh pot from the kinder-kind of thy knowledge.
Friar. Knowledge, my son, knowledge, I warrant ye.—How sayest
thou, Morgan, art thou not a very prophet?
Harper. Friar, friar, a prophet verily,
For great Lluellen's love,
Sent from above
To bring him victory.
Rice ap Mer. Come, then, gentle prophet, let's see how thou canst
salute thy prince. Say, shall we have good success in our enterprise or no?
Harper. When the weathercock of Carnarvon steeple shall engender young
ones in the belfry, and a herd of goats leave their pasture to be clothed in
silver,
Then shall Brute be born anew,
And Wales record their ancient hue.
Ask Friar David if this be not true.
Friar. This, my lord, 'a means by you.
O, he is a prophet, a prophet.
Lluellen. Soft you now, good Morgan Pigot, and take us with ye a
little, I pray. What means your wisdom by all this?
Harper. The weathercock, my lord, was your father, who by foul weather
of war was driven to take sanctuary in Saint Mary's at Carnarvon, where he begat
young ones on your mother in the belfry, viz. your worship and your brother
David.
Lluellen. But what didst thou mean by the goats?
Harper. The goats that leave the pasture to be clothed in silver, are
the silver goats your men wore on their sleeves.
Friar. O, how I love thee, Morgan Pigot, our sweet prophet!
Lluellen. Hence, rogue, with your prophecies, out of my sight!
Rice ap Mer. Nay, good my lord, let's have a few more of these metres:
he hath great store in his head.
Jack. Yea, and of the best in the market, an your lordship would
vouchsafe to hear them.
Lluellen. Villain, away! I'll hear no more of your prophecies.
Harper. When legs shall lose their length,
And shanks yield up their strength,
Returning weary home from out the holy land,
A Welshman shall be king and govern merry England.
Rice ap Mer. Did I not tell your lordship he would hit it home anon?
Friar. My lord, he comes to your time, that's flat.
Jack. Ay, master, an you mark him, he hit the mark pat.
Friar. As how, Jack?
Jack. Why, thus:
When legs shall lose their length,
And shanks yield up their strength,
Returning weary home from out the holy land,
A Welshman shall be king and govern merry England.
Why, my lord, in this prophecy is your advancement as plainly seen as a three
half-pence through a dish of butter in a sunny day.
Friar. I think so, Jack; for he that sees [the] three half-pence must
tarry till the butter be melted in the sun: and so, forth, apply, boy.
Jack. Non ego, master: do you, an you dare.
Lluellen. And so, boy, thou meanest, he that tarries this prophecy may
see Longshanks shorter by the head and Lluellen wear the crown in the field?
Friar. By Lady, my lord, you go near the matter.—But what saith
Morgan Pigot more?
Harper. In the year of our Lord God 1272, shall spring from the loins
of Brute, one whose wife's name being the perfect end of his own, shall
consummate the peace betwixt England and Wales, and be advanced to ride through
Cheapside with a crown on his head; and that's meant by your lordship, for your
wife's name being Ellen, and your own Lluellen, beareth the perfect end of your
own name: so must it needs be that, [though] for a time Ellen flee from
Lluellen, ye being betrothed in heart each to others, must needs be advanced to
be highest of your kin.
Lluellen. Jack, I make him thy prisoner. Look, what way my fortune
inclines, that way goes he.
Rice ap Mer. Sirrah, see you run swiftest.
Friar. Farewell: be far from the spigot.
[Exeunt Friar and GUENTHIAN.
Jack. Now, sir, if our country ale were as good as your metheglin, I
would teach you to play the knave, or you should teach me to play the harper.
Harper. Ambo, boy; you are too light-witted as I am light-minded.
Jack. It seemed to me thou art fittest and passing well.
[Exeunt JACK and Harper.

Enter GUENTHER with letters.

Lluellen. What tidings bringeth Guenther with his haste?
Say, man, what bodes thy message, good or bad?
Guenther. Bad, my lord; and all in vain, I wot,
Thou dart'st thine eyes upon the wallowing main,
As erst did Ægeus to behold his son,
To welcome and receive thy welcome love;
And sable sails he saw, and so mayst thou,
For whose mishap the brackish seas lament.
Edward, O, Edward!
Lluellen. And what of him?
Guenther. Landed he is at Dover with his men,
From Palestine safe; by his English lords
Receiv'd in triumph like an earthly god:
He lives to wear his father's diadem,
And sway the sword of British Albion.
But Elinor, thy Elinor!
Lluellen. And what of her?
Hath amorous Neptune gaz'd upon my love,
And stopt her passage with his forkèd mace?
Or, that I rather fear,—O deadly fear!—
Enamour'd Nereus doth he withhold
My Elinor?
Guenther. Nor Neptune, Nereus, nor other god
Withholdeth from my gracious lord his love:
But cruel Edward, that injurious king,
Withholds thy liefest lovely Elinor;
Ta'en in a pinnace on the narrow seas
By four tall ships of Bristow, and with her
Lord Emerick, her unhappy noble brother,
As from Montargis hitherward they sail'd.
This say in brief these letters tell at large.
[LLUELLEN reads his brother Sir DAVID'S letters.
Lluellen. Is Longshanks, then, so lusty now become?
Is my fair love, my beauteous Elinor, ta'en?
Villains, damn'd villains, not to guard her safe,
Or fence her sacred person from her foes!
Sun, couldst thou shine, and see my love beset,
And didst not clothe thy clouds in fiery coats,
O'er all the heavens, with wingèd sulphur flames,
As when thy beams, like mounted combatants,
Battled with Python in the fallow'd lays?
But if kind Cambria deign me good aspéct,
To make me chiefest Brute of western Wales,
I'll short that gain-legg'd Longshank[s] by the top,
And make his flesh my murdering falchion's food.
To arms, true Britons, sprung of Trojans' seed,
And with your swords write in the Book of Time
Your British names in characters of blood!
Owen ap Rice, while we stay for further force,
Prepare, away in post, and take with thee
A hundred chosen of thy countrymen,
And scour the marches with your Welshmen's hooks,
That Englishmen may think the devil is come.
Rice shall remain with me: make thou thy bode
In resolution to revenge these wrongs
With blood of thousands guiltless of this rage.
Fly thou on them amain!—Edward, my love
Be thy life's bane!—Follow me, countrymen!
Words make no way: my Elinor is surpriz'd;
Robb'd am I of the comfort of my life:
And know I this, and am not veng'd on him?
[Exeunt.

Enter the Nine Lords of Scotland, with their Nine Pages; GLOCESTER,
SUSSEX, KING EDWARD LONGSHANKS in his suit of glass, QUEEN ELINOR, the
QUEEN-MOTHER, and JOAN: the King and Queen sit under a canopy.

Longsh. Nobles of Scotland, we thank you all
For this day's gentle princely service done
To Edward, England's king and Scotland's lord.
Our coronation's due solemnity
Is ended with applause of all estates:
Now, then, let us repose and rest us here.
But specially we thank you, gentle lords,
That you so well have governèd your griefs,
As, being grown unto a general jar,
You choose King Edward by your messengers,
To calm, to qualify, and to compound
Th' ambitious strife of Scotland's climbing peers.
I have no doubt, fair lords, but you well wot
How factions waste the richest commonwealth,
And discord spoils the seats of mighty kings.
The barons' war, a tragic wicked war,
Nobles, how hath it shaken England's strength!
Industriously, it seems to me, you have
Loyally ventur'd to prevent this shock;
For which, sith you have chosen me your judge,
My lords, will you stand to what I shall award?
Baliol. Victorious Edward, to whom the Scottish kings
Owe homage as their lord and sovereign,
Amongst us nine is but one lawful king:
But might we all be judges in the case,
Then should in Scotland be nine kings at once,
And this contention never set or limited.
To stay these jars we jointly make appeal
To thy imperial throne, who knows our claims.
We stand not on our titles 'fore your grace,
But do submit ourselves to your award;
And whom your majesty shall name our king,
To him we'll yield obedience as a king.
Thus willingly, and of her own accord,
Doth Scotland make great England's king her judge.
Longsh. Then, nobles, since you all agree in one,
That for a crown so disagree in all,
Since what I do shall rest irrevocable,
And, lovely England, to thy lovely queen,
Lovely Queen Elinor, unto her turn thy eye,
Whose honour cannot but love thee well;
Hold up your hands in sight, with general voice,
That are content to stand to our award.
[They all hold up their hands and say "He shall."
Deliver me the golden diadem.
Lo, here I hold the goal for which ye striv'd,
And here behold, my worthy men-at-arms,
For chivalry and worthy wisdom's praise,
Worthy each one to wear a diadem:
Expect my doom, as erst at Ida hills
The goddesses divine waited th' award
Of Dardan's son. Baliol, stand farthest forth:
Baliol, behold, I give thee the Scottish crown:
Wear it with heart and with thankfulness.
Sound trumpets, and say all after me,
God save King Baliol, the Scottish king!
[The trumpets sound; all cry aloud. "God save KING BALIOL, the
Scottish King."
Thus, lords, though you require no reason why,
According to the conscience in the cause,
I make John Baliol your anointed king.
Honour and love him, as behoves him best
That is in peace of Scotland's crown possess'd.
Baliol. Thanks, royal England, for thy honour done.
This justice that hath calm'd our civil strife,
Shall now be ceas'd with honourable love.
So movèd of remorse and pity,
We will erect a college of my name;
In Oxford will I build, for memory
Of Baliol's bounty and his gratitude;
And let me happy days no longer see
Than here to England loyal I shall be.
Q. Elinor. Now brave John Baliol, Lord of Galloway
And King of Scots, shine with thy golden head;
Shake thy spears, in honour of his name,
Under whose royalty thou wear'st the same.

QUEEN ELINOR'S Speech.

The welkin, spangled through with golden spots,
Reflects no finer in a frosty night

Than lovely Longshanks in his Elinor's eye:
So, Ned, thy Nell in every part of thee,
Thy person's guarded with a troop of queens,
And every queen as brave as Elinor.
Give glory to these glorious crystal quarries,
Where every robe an object entertains
Of rich device and princely majesty.
Thus like Narcissus, diving in the deep,
I die in honour and in England's arms;
And if I drown, it is in my delight,
Whose company is chiefest life in death,
From forth whose coral lips I suck the sweet
Wherewith are dainty Cupid's caudles made.
Then live or die, brave Ned, or sink or swim,
An earthly bliss it is to look on him.
On thee, sweet Ned, it shall become thy Nell
Bounteous to be unto the beauteous:
O'er-pry the palms, sweet fountains of my bliss,
And I will stand on tiptoe for a kiss.
Longsh. He had no thought of any gentle heart,
That would not seize desire for such desert.
If any heavenly joy in women be,
Sweet of all sweets, sweet Nell, it is in thee.—
Now, lords, along: by this the Earl of March,
Lord Mortimer, o'er Cambria's mountain-tops
Hath rang'd his men, and feels Lluellen's mind:
To which confines, that well in wasting be,
Our solemn service of coronation past,
We will amain to back our friends at need;
And into Wales our men-at-arms shall march,
And we with them in person, foot by foot.—
Brother of Scotland, you shall to your home,
And live in honour there fair England's friend.—
And thou, sweet Nell, Queen of King Edward's heart,
Shall now come lesser at thy dainty love,
And at coronation meet thy loving peers,
When storms are past, and we have cool'd the rage
Of these rebellious Welshmen, that contend
'Gainst England's majesty and Edward's crown.
Sound, trumpets! Heralds, lead the train along:
This be King Edward's feast and holiday.
[Exeunt all except QUEEN ELINOR, JOAN, and GLOCESTER.

Enter the MAYORESS OF LONDON from church, and music before her.

Q. Elinor. Glocester, who may this be? A bride or what?—
I pray ye, Joan, go see,
And know the reason of the harmony
Joan. Good woman, let it not offend you any whit
For to deliver unto me the cause
That in this unusual kind of sort
You pass the streets with music so.
Mayoress. Mistress, or madam, whate'er you be,
Wot you I am the Mayor of London's wife,
Who, for I have been deliver'd of a son,
Having not these dozen years had any before,
Now in my husband's year of mayoralty,
Bringing him a goodly boy,
I pass unto my house a maiden bride:
Which private pleasure, touching godliness,
Shall here no way, I hope, offend the good.
Q. Elinor. You hope so, gentle mistress; do you indeed?
But do not make it parcel of your creed.
Mayoress. [aside.] Alas, I am undone! it is the Queen;
The proudest Queen that ever England knew.
[Exit with Attendants.
Q. Elinor. Come, Glocester, let's to the court, and revel there.
[Exit with GLOCESTER and JOAN.

Enter RICE AP MEREDITH, SIR DAVID, and LLUELLEN.

Sir David. Soft! is it not Meredith I behold?
Lluellen. All good, all friends.—Meredith, see the man
Must make us great, and raise Lluellen's head:
Fight thou, Lluellen, for thy friend and thee.
Rice ap Mer. Fight, maugre fortune strong, our battle's strong,
And bear thy foes before thy pointed lance.
Sir David. Not too much prowess, good my lord, at once.
Some talk of policy another while.
Rice ap Mer. How come thy limbs hurt at this assault?
Lluellen. Hurt for our good, Meredith, make account.
Sir David's wit is full of good device,
And kindly will perform what he pretends.
Sir David. Enough of this, my lord, at once.
What will you, that I hold the king in hand?
Or what shall I especially advise,
Sitting in council with the English lords,
That so my counsel may avail my friends?
Lluellen. David, if thou wilt best for me devise,
Advise my love be render'd to my hand.
Tell them the chains that Mulciber erst made
To tie Prometheus' limbs to Caucasus,
Nor Furies' fangs shall hold me long from her,
But I will have her from th' usurper's tent,
My beauteous Elinor! If aught in this,
If in this case thy wit may boot thy friends,
Express it, then, in this, in nothing else.
Sir David. Ay, there's a card that puts us to our trump;
For might I see the star of Leicester's loins,
It were enough to darken and obscure
This Edward's glory, fortune, and his pride.
First, hereof can I put you out of doubt:
Lord Mortimer of the king hath her in charge,
And honourably entreats your Elinor.
Some think he prays Lluellen were in heaven,
And thereby hopes to couch his love on earth.
Lluellen. No: where Lluellen mounts, there Ellen flies.
Inspeakable are my thoughts for her:
She's not from me in death to be divorc'd.
Go to, it shall be so; so shall it be.
Edward is full resolvèd of thy faith,
So are the English lords and barons all:
Then what may let thee to intrude on them
Some new-found stratagem to feel their wit?
Sir David. It is enough. Meredith, take my weapons;
I am your prisoner; say so at the least.
Go hence, and when you parle on the walls,
Make show of monstrous tyranny you intend
To execute on me, as on the man
That shamefully rebels 'gainst kin and kind;
And 'less thou have thy love, and make thy peace
With such conditions as shall best concern,
David must die, say thou, a shameful death.
Edward, perhaps, with ruth and pity mov'd,
Will in exchange yield Elinor to thee,
And thou by me shalt gain thy heart's desire.
Lluellen. Sweetly advis'd: David, thou blessest me,
My brother David, lengthener of my life!—
Friends, gratulate to me my joyful hopes.
[Exeunt.

Enter KING EDWARD LONGSHANKS, SUSSEX, MORTIMER, and others.

Longsh. Why, barons, suffer ye our foes to breathe?
Assault, assault, and charge them all amain!
They fear, they fly, they faint, they fight in vain.
But where is gentle David? in his den?
Loth were I aught but good should him betide.
[Sound an alarum.

Enter, on the walls, LLUELLEN, RICE AP MEREDITH, with a dagger in his
hand, holding SIR DAVID by the collar, the Friar, and Soldiers.

Where is the proud disturber of our state,
Traitor to Wales and to his sovereign?
Lluellen. Usurper, here I am. What dost thou crave?
Longsh. Welshman, allegiance, which thou ow'st thy king.
Lluellen. Traitor, no king, that seeks thy country's sack,
The famous runagate of Christendom.
Longsh. Ambitious rebel, know'st thou what I am,
How great, how famous, and how fortunate?
And dar'st thou carry arms against me here,
Even when thou shouldst do reverence at my feet?
Yea, fear'd and honour'd in the farthest parts
Hath Edward been, the noble Henry's son.
Traitor, this sword unsheath'd hath shinèd oft
With reeking in the blood of Saracens;
When, like to Perseus on his wingèd steed,
Brandishing bright the blade of adamant
That agèd Saturn gave fair Maia's son,
Conflicting tho with Gorgon in the vale,
Sitting before the gates of Nazareth,
My horse's hoofs I stain'd in pagan's gore,
Sending whole centuries of heathen souls
To Pluto's house: this sword, this thirsty sword,
Aims at thy head, and shall, I hope, ere long,
Gage and divide thy bowels and thy bulk,
Disloyal villain, thou, and what is more?
Lluellen. Why, Longshanks, think'st thou I will be scar'd with words?
No: didst thou speak in thunder like to Jove,
Or shouldst, as Briareus, shake at once
A hundred bloody swords with bloody hands,
I tell thee, Longshanks, here he faceth thee
Whom naught can daunt, no, not the stroke of death.
Resolv'd ye see: but see the chance of war:
Know'st thou a traitor an thou seest his head?
Then, Longshanks, look this villain in the face:
This rebel, he hath wrought his country's wreck;
Base rascal, bad and hated in his kind,
Object of wrath, and subject of revenge.
Longsh. Lluellen, call'st thou this the chance of war?
Bad for us all, perdy, but worse for him.—
Courage, Sir David! kings thou know'st must die,
And noble minds all dastard fear defy.
Sir David. Renownèd Edward, star of England's globe,
My liefest lord and sweetest sovereign,
Glorious and happy is this chance to me,
To reap this fame and honour in my death,—
That I was hew'd with foul-defilèd hands
For my belovèd king and country's good,
And died in grace and favour with my prince.—
Seize on me, bloody butchers, with your paws:
It is but temporal that you can inflict.
Longsh. Bravely resolv'd, brave soldier, by my life!

Friar. Hark you, sir, I am afeard you will not be so resolved by that
time you know so much as I can show you: here be hot dogs, I can tell you, mean
to have the baiting of you.
Mortimer. Lluellen, in the midst of all thy braves,
How wilt thou use thy brother thou hast ta'en?
Wilt thou not let his master ransom him.?
Lluellen. No, nor his mistress, gallant Mortimer,
With all the gold and silver of the land.
Rice ap Mer. Ransom this Judas to his father's line!
Ransom this traitor to his brother's life!
No.—Take that earnest-penny of thy death.—
[Seems to stab SIR DAVID into the arms and shoulders.
This touch, my lord, comes nothing near the mark.
Longsh. O damnèd villain, hold thy hands! Ask and have.
Lluellen. We will nor ask nor have. Seest thou these tools?
[Shows hot pincers.
These be the dogs shall bait him to the death,
And shall by piece-meals tear his cursèd flesh;
And in thy sight here shall he hang and pine.
Longsh. O villains, traitors, how will I be veng'd!
Lluellen. What, threat'st thou, Edward? Desperate minds contemn
That fury menaceth: see thy words' effects.
[Seems to cut SIR DAVID'S nose.
Sir David. O gracious heavens, dissolve me into clay!
This tyranny is more than flesh can bear.
Longsh. Bear it, brave mind, sith nothing but thy blood
May satisfy in this extreme estate.
Sussex. My lord, it is in vain to threaten them;
They are resolv'd, ye see, upon his death.
Longsh. Sussex, his death, they all shall buy it dear:
Offer them any favour for his life,
Pardon, or peace, or aught what is beside:
So love me God as I regard my friends!—
Lluellen, let me have thy brother's life
Even at what rate and ransom thou wilt name.
Lluellen. Edward, King Edward, as thou list be term'd,
Thou know'st thou hast my beauteous Elinor:
Produce her forth to plead for David's life;
She may obtain more than an host of men.
Longsh. Wilt thou exchange thy prisoner for thy love?
Lluellen. Talk no more to me; let me see her face.
Mortimer. Why, will your majesty be all so base
To stoop to his demands in every thing?
Longsh. Fetch her at once; good Mortimer, be gone.
Mortimer. [aside.] I go; but how unwilling heaven doth know.
Rice ap Mer. Apace, Mortimer, if thou love thy friend.
Mortimer. [aside.] I go for dearer than I leave behind.
[Exit.
Longsh. See, Sussex, how he bleedeth in my eye,
That beareth fortune's shock triumphantly.
Friar. Sa-ha, master! I have found, I have found.
Lluellen. What hast thou found, friar, ha?
Rice ap Mer. News, my lord, a star from out the sea;
The same is risen and made a summer's day.

Re-enter MORTIMER, conducting in the LADY ELINOR.

Lluellen. What, Nell, sweet Nell, do I behold thy face?
Fall aheavens, fleet stars, shine Phœbus' lamp no more!
This is the planet lends this world her light;
Star of my fortune this, that shineth bright,
Queen of my heart, loadstar of my delight,
Fair mould of beauty, miracle of fame.
O, let me die with Elinor in mine arms!
What honour shall I lend thy loyalty
Or praise unto thy sacred deity?
Rice ap Mer. Marry, this, my lord, if I may give you counsel: sacrifice
this tyke in her sight, her friend; which being done, one of your soldiers may
dip his foul shirt in his blood; so shall you be waited with as many crosses as
King Edward.
Longsh. Good cheer, Sir David; we shall up anon.
Mortimer. [aside.] Die, Mortimer; thy life is almost gone.
Elinor. Sweet Prince of Wales, were I within thine arms,
Then should I in peace possess my love,
And heavens open fair their crystal gates,
That I may see the palace of my intent.
Longsh. Lluellen, set thy brother free:
Let me have him, thou shalt have Elinor.
Lluellen. Sooth, Edward, I do prize my Elinor
Dearer than life; but there belongeth more
To these affairs than my content in love:
And to be short, if thou wilt have thy man,
Of whom, I swear, thou thinkest over-well,
The safety of Lluellen and his men
Must be regarded highly in this match.
Say, therefore, and be short, wilt thou give peace
And pardon to Lluellen and his men?
Longsh. I will herein have time to be advis'd.
Lluellen. King Edward, no: we will admit no pause,
For goes this wretch, this traitor, to the pot.
And if Lluellen be pursu'd so near,
May chance to show thee such a tumbling-cast,
As erst our father when he thought to scape,
And broke his neck from Julius Cæsar's tower.
Sussex. My lord, these rebels all are desperate.
Mortimer. [aside.] And Mortimer of all most miserable.
Longsh. How, say you, Welshmen, will you leave your arms,
And be true liegemen unto Edward's crown?
First Soldier. If Edward pardon surely what is past,
Upon conditions we are all content.
Longsh. Belike you will condition with us, then?
First Soldier. Special conditions for our safety first,
And for our country Cambria's common good,
T'avoid the fusion of our guilty blood.
Longsh. Go to; say on.
First Soldier. First, for our followers, and ourselves, and all,
We ask a pardon in the prince's word;
Then for this lord's possession in his love;

But for our country chief these boons we beg,
And England's promise princely to thy Wales,
That none be Cambria's prince to govern us
But he that is a Welshman, born in Wales:
Grant this, and swear it on thy knightly sword,
And have thy man and us and all in peace.
Lluellen. Why, Cambria-Britons, are you so incens'd?
Will you deliver me to Edward's hands?
First Soldier. No, Lord Lluellen; we will back for thee
Thy life, thy love, and golden liberty.
Mortimer. [aside.] A truce with honourable conditions ta'en;
Wales' happiness, England's glory, and my bane.
Longsh. Command retreat be sounded in our camp.—
Soldiers, I grant at full what you request.—
David, good cheer.—Lluellen, open the gates.
Lluellen. The gates are open'd: enter thee and thine.
Sir David. The sweetest sun that e'er I saw to shine!
Longsh. Madam, a brabble well begun for thee:
Be thou my guest and Sir Lluellen's love.
[Exeunt all except MORTIMER.
Mortimer. Mortimer, a brabble ill begun for thee;
A truce with capital conditions ta'en,
A prisoner sav'd and ransom'd with thy life.
Edward, my king, my lord, and lover dear,
Full little dost thou wot how this retreat,
As with a sword, hath slain poor Mortimer.
Farewell the flower, the gem of beauty's blaze,
Sweet Ellen, miracle of nature's hand!
Hell in thy name, but heaven is in thy looks:
Sweet Venus, let me saint or devil be
In that sweet heaven or hell that is in thee.
[Exit.

Enter JACK and the Harper, getting a standing against the Queen
comes in.

The trumpets sound: enter QUEEN ELINOR, JOAN, and Ladies in a litter,
borne by four Negro-Moors, and attended on by the EARL OF GLOCESTER and
four Footmen: one having set a ladder to the side of the litter, QUEEN
ELINOR descends, and JOAN and Ladies follow.

Q. Elinor. Give me my pantables.
Fie, this hot weather how it makes me sweat!
Heigh-ho, my heart! ah, I am passing faint!
Give me my fan that I may cool my face.
Hold, take my mask, but see you rumple't not.
This wind and dust, see how it smolders me!
Some drink, good Glocester, or I die for thirst.
Ah, Ned, thou hast forgot thy Nell I see,
That she is thus enforc'd to follow thee!
Glocester. This air's distemperature, an please your majesty,
Noisome through mountain vapours and thick mist,
Unpleasant needs must be to you and your
Company, that ne'er was wont to take the air
Till Flora had perfum'd the earth with sweets,
With lilies, roses, mints, and eglantine.
Q. Elinor. I tell thee, the ground is all too base
For Elinor to honour with her steps;

Whose footpace, when she progress'd in the street[s]
Of Acon and the fair Jerusalem,
Was [upon] naught but costly arras-points,
Fair island-tapestry, and azur'd silk;
My milk-white steed treading on cloth of ray,
And trampling proudly underneath the feet
Choice of our English woollen drapery.
This climate o'er-lowering with black congealèd clouds,
That take their swelling from the marish soil,
Fraught with infectious fogs and misty damps,
Is far unworthy to be once embalm'd
With redolence of this refreshing breath,
That sweetens where it lights, as do the flames And holy fires of Vesta's
sacrifice.
Joan. Whose pleasant fields, new-planted with the spring,
Make Thamesis to mount above the banks,
And, like a wanton, wallowing up and down
On Flora's beds and Napæ's silver down.
Glocester. And Wales for me, madam, while you are here;
No climate good unless your grace be near.
Would Wales had aught could please you half so well,
Or any precious thing in Glocester's gift,
Whereof your ladyship would challenge me!
Joan. Well said, my lord! 'tis as my mother says;
You men have learnt to woo a thousand ways.
Glocester. O, madam, had I learnt, against my need,
Of all those ways to woo, one way to speed,
My cunning, then, had been my fortune's guide.
Q. Elinor. Faith, Joan, I think thou must be Glocester's bride.—
Good earl, how near he steps unto her side!
So soon this eye these younglings had espied.—
I'll tell thee, girl, when I was fair and young,
I found such honey in sweet Edward's tongue,
As I could never spend one idle walk
But Ned and I would piece it out with talk.—
So you, my lord, when you have got your Joan,
No matter, let queen-mother be alone.
Old Nell is mother now, and grandmother may;
The greenest grass doth droop and turn to hay.
Woo on, kind clerk, good Glocester, love thy Joan:
Her heart is thine, her eye is not her own.
Glocester. This comfort, madam, that your grace doth give
Binds me in double duty whilst I live.
Would God, King Edward see and say no less!
Q. Elinor. Glocester, I warrant thee upon my life
My king vouchsafes his daughter for thy wife.
Sweet Ned hath not forgot, since he did woo,
The gall of love and all that 'longs thereto.
Glocester. Why, was your grace so coy to one so kind?
Q. Elinor. Kind, Glocester! so, methinks, indeed:
It seems he loves his wife no more than needs,
That sends for us in all the speedy haste,
Knowing his queen to be so great with child,
And makes me leave my princely pleasant seats
To come into his ruder part of Wales.
Glocester. His highness hath some secret reason why
He wisheth you to move from England's pleasant court.
The Welshmen have of long time suitors been,
That when the war of rebels sorts an end,
None might be prince and ruler over them
But such a one as was their countryman;
Which suit, I think, his grace hath granted them.
Q. Elinor. So, then, it is King Edward's policy

To have his son—forsooth, son if it be—
A Welshman: well, Welshman it liketh me.
And here he comes.

Enter KING EDWARD LONGSHANKS and Lords.

Longsh. Nell, welcome into Wales!
How fares my Elinor?
Q. Elinor. Ne'er worse: beshrew
Their hearts, 'tis long on.
Longsh. Hearts, sweet Nell?
Beshrew no hearts where such sweet saints do dwell.
[Holds her hand fast.
Q. Elinor. Nay, then, I see I have my dream: I pray, let go:
You will not will you, whether I will or no?
You are dispos'd to move me.
Longsh. Say any thing but so.
Once, Nell, thou gav'st me this.
Q. Elinor. I pray, let go;
Ye are dispos'd, I think.
Longsh. Ay, madam, very well.
Q. Elinor. Let go and be naught, I say!
Longsh. What ails my Nell?
Q. Elinor. Ay me, what sudden fit is this I prove?
What grief, what pinching pain, like young men's love,
That makes me madding run thus to and fro?
Longsh. What, melancholy, Nell?
Q. Elinor. My lord, pray, let me go.
Give me sweet water. Why, how hot it is!
Glocester. [aside.] These be the fits
Trouble men's wits.
Longsh. Joan, ask thy beauteous mother how she doth.
Joan. How fares your majesty?
Q. Elinor. Joan, aggriev'd at the heart,
And anger'd worse, because I cannot right me:
I think the king comes purposely to spite me.
My fingers itch till I have had my will:
Proud Edward, call in thy Elinor; be still.
It will not be, nor rest I anywhere
Till I have set it soundly on his ear.
Joan. [aside.] Is that the matter? then let me alone.
Q. Elinor. Fie, how I fret with grief!
Longsh. Come hither, Joan:
Know'st thou what ails my queen?
Joan. Not I, my lord:
She longs, I think, to give your grace a box on th' ear.
Longsh. Nay, wench, if that be all, we'll ear it well.—
What, all amort! How doth my dainty Nell?
Look up, sweet love: unkind! not kiss me once?
That may not be.
Q. Elinor. My lord, I think you do it for the nonce.
Longsh. Sweetheart, one kiss.
Q. Elinor. For God's sake, let me go.
Longsh. Sweetheart, a kiss.
Q. Elinor. What, whether I will or no?
You will not leave? let be I say.
Longsh. I must be better chid.
Q. Elinor. No, will? [striking him on the ear.] take that, then,
lusty lord: sir, leave when you are bid.
Longsh. Why, so, this chare is char'd.
Glocester. A good one, by the rood.
Q. Elinor. No force, no harm.
Longsh. No harm that doth my Elinor any good.—
Learn, lords, 'gainst you be married men, to bow to women's yoke;
And sturdy though you be, you may not stir for every stroke.—
Now, my sweet Nell, how doth my qeeen?
Q. Elinor. She vaunts
That mighty England hath felt her fist,
Taking a blow basely at Elinor's hand.
Longsh. And vaunt she may, good leave, being curst and coy:
Lack nothing, Nell, whilst thou hast brought thy lord a lovely boy.
Q. Elinor. Ven acà; I am sick;
Good Katherine, I pray thee, be at hand.
Kath. This sickness, I hope,
Will bring King Edward a jolly boy.
Longsh. And, Katherine,
Who brings me that news shall not go empty-handed.
[Exeunt.

Enter MORTIMER, LLUELLEN, RICE AP MEREDITH, and the LADY ELINOR.

Mortimer. Farewell, Lluellen, with thy loving Nell.
Lluellen. God-a-mercy, Mortimer; and so farewell.
[MORTIMER retires and conceals himself.
Rice ap Mer. Farewell and be hang'd, false Sinon's serpent brood.
Lluellen. Good words, Sir Rice: wrongs have best remedy,
So taken with time, patience, and policy.
But where is the friar? who can tell?

Enter Friar.

Friar. That can I, master, very well;
And say, i'faith, what hath befel,
Must we at once to heaven or hell?
Elinor. To heaven, friar! friar, no, fie!
Such heavy souls mount not so high.
Friar. [lying down.] Then, friar, lie thee down and die;
And if any ask the reason why,
Answer and say thou canst not tell,
Unless because thou must to hell.
Elinor. No, friar, because thou didst rebel:
Gentle Sir Rice ring out thy knell.
Lluellen. And Maddock toll thy passing-bell.
So, there lies a straw,
And now to the law.
Masters and friends; naked came we into the world, naked are we turned out
of the good towns into the wilderness. Let me see; mass, methinks we are a
handsome commonwealth, a handful of good fellows, set a-sunning to dog on our
own discretion. What say you, sir[s]? We are enough to keep a passage: will you
be ruled by me? We'll get the next day from Brecknock the Book of Robin Hood;
the friar he shall instruct us in his cause, and we'll even here fare and well:
since the king hath put us amongst the discarding cards, and, as it were, turned
us with deuces and treys out of the deck, every man take his standing on
Mannock-deny, and wander like irregulars up and down the wilderness. I'll be
Master of Misrule, I'll be Robin Hood, that's once: cousin Rice, thou shalt be
Little John: and here's Friar David as fit as a die for Friar Tuck. Now, my
sweet Nell, if you will make up the mess with a good heart for Maid Marian, and
dwell with Lluellen under the green-wood trees, with as good a will as in the
good towns, why, plena est curia.
Elinor. My sweetest love, an this my infract fortune
Could never vaunt her sovereignty,
And shouldst thou pass the ford of Phlegethon,
Or with Leander swim the Hellespont,
In deserts Æthiopian ever dwell,
Or build thy bower on Ætna's fiery tops,
Thy Nell would follow thee and keep with thee,
Thy Nell would feed with thee and sleep with thee.
Friar. O Cupido quantus, quantus!
Rice ap Mer. Bravely resolved, madam.—And then what rests, my Lord
Robin, but we will live and die together like Camber-Britons,—Robin Hood,
Little John, Friar Tuck, and Maid Marian?
Lluellen. There rests nothing now, cousin, but that I sell my chain to
set us all in green, and we'll all play the pioners to make us a cave and cabin
for all weathers.
Elinor. My sweet Lluellen, though this sweet be gall,
Patience doth conquer by out-suffering all.
Friar. Now, Mannock-deny,
I hold thee a penny,
Thou shalt have neither sheep nor goat
But Friar David will fleece his coat:
Wherever Jack, my novice, jet,
All is fish with him that comes to net;
David, this year thou pay'st no debt.
[Exeunt.
Mortimer. [coming forward from his concealment.]
Why, friar, is it so plain, indeed?
Lluellen, art thou flatly so resolv'd
To roist it out, and roost so near the king?
What, shall we have a passage kept in Wales
For men-at-arms and knights adventurous?
By cock, Sir Rice, I see no reason why
Young Mortimer should not make one among,
And play his part on Mannock-deny here,
For love of his beloved Elinor.
His Elinor! her, were she his, I wot,
The bitter northern wind upon the plains,
The damps that rise from out the queachy plots,
Nor influence of contagious air should touch;
But she should court it with the proudest dames,
Rich in attire, and sumptuous in her fare,
And take her ease in beds of softest down.
Why, Mortimer, may not thy offers move,
And win sweet Elinor from Lluellen's love?
Why, pleasant gold and gentle eloquence
Have 'tic'd the chastest nymphs, the fairest dames,
And vaunts of words, delights of wealth and ease
Have made a nun to yield Lluellen's
Being set to see the last of desperate chance.
Why should so fair a star stand in a vale,
And not be seen to sparkle in the sky?
It is enough Jove change his glittering robes
To see Mnemosyne and the flies.
Masters, have after gentle Robin Hood:
You're not so well accompanied, I hope,
But if a potter come to play his part,
You'll give him stripes or welcome, good or worse.
Go, Mortimer, and make there love-holidays:
The king will take a common 'scuse of thee,
And who hath more men to attend than Mortimer?
[Exit.

Enter LLUELLEN, RICE AP MEREDITH, Friar, the LADY ELINOR, and their
train.

They are all clad in green, and sing "Blithe and bonny."
Lluellen. Why, so, I see, my mates, of old
All were not lies that beldames told
Of Robin Hood and Little John,
Friar Tuck and Maid Marian.
Friar. Ay, forsooth, master.
Lluellen. How well they couch'd in forest green,
Frolic and lively withouten teen,
And spent their day in game and glee:
Lluellen, do seek if aught please thee,
Nor, though thy foot be out of town,
Let thine look black on Edward's crown;
Nor think this green is not so gay
As was the golden rich array;
And if sweet Nell, my Marian,
Trust me, as I am gentleman,
Thou art as fine in this attire,
As fine and fit to my desire,
As when of Leicester's hall and bower
Thou wert the rose and sweetest flower.
How say'st thou, friar, say I well?
For any thing becomes my Nell.
Friar. Never made man of a woman born
A bullock's tail a blowing horn;
Nor can an ass's hide disguise
A lion, if he ramp and rise.
Elinor. My lord, the friar is wondrous wise.
Lluellen. Believe him, for he tells no lies.—
But what doth Little John devise?
Rice ap Mer. That Robin Hood beware of spies.
An agèd saying and a true,
Black will take no other hue;
He that of old hath been thy foe
Will die but will continue so.
Friar. O, masters, whither shall we go?
Doth any living creature know?
Lluellen. Rice and I will walk the round.
Friar, see about the ground,

Enter MORTIMER disguised as a Potter.

And spoil what prey is to be found.
My love I leave within in trust,
Because I know thy dealing just.—
Come, potter, come, and welcome too,
Fare as we fare, and do as we do.—
Nell, adieu: we go for news.
[Exeunt LLUELLEN and RICE AP MEREDITH.
Friar. A little serves the friar's lust,
When nolens volens fast I must:
Master, at all that you refuse.
Mortimer. [aside.] Such a potter would I choose,
When I mean to blind a 'scuse:
While Robin walk[s] with Little John,
The Friar will lick his Marian:
So will the potter if he can.
Elinor. Now, friar, sith your lord is gone,
And you and I are left alone,
What can the friar do or say
To pass the weary time away?—
Weary, God wot, poor wench, to thee,
That never thought these days to see.
Mortimer. [aside.] Break, heart! and split, mine eyes, in twain!
Ne'er let me hear those words again.
Friar. What can the friar do or say
To pass the weary time away?
More dare he do than he dare say,
Because he doubts to have a nay.
Elinor. Do somewhat, friar, say or sing,
That may to sorrows solace bring;
And I meanwhile will garlands make.
Mortimer. [aside.] O, Mortimer, were't for thy sake,
A garland were the happiest stake,
That e'er this hand unhappy drew!
Friar. Mistress, shall I tell you true?
I have a song, I learn'd it long ago:
I wot not whether you'll like it well or no.
'Tis short and sweet, but somewhat brawl'd before:
Once let me sing it, and I ask no more.
Elinor. What, friar, will you so indeed?
Agrees it somewhat with your need?
Friar. Why, mistress, shall I sing my creed?
Elinor. That's fitter of the two at need.
Mortimer. [aside.] O, wench, how mayst thou hope to speed?
Friar. O, mistress, out it goes:
Look what comes next, the friar throws.
[Sits along and sings.
Mortimer. [aside.] Such a sitting who ever saw?
An eagle's bird of a jackdaw.
Elinor. So, sir, is this all?
Mortimer. [coming forward.] Sweet-heart, here's no more.
Elinor. How now, good fellow! more indeed by one than was before.
Friar. How now! the devil instead of a ditty!
Mortimer. Friar, a ditty
Come late from the city,
To ask some pity
Of this lass so pretty:—
Some pity, sweet mistress, I pray you.
Elinor. How now, friar! where are we now, an you play not the man?
Friar. Friend copesmate, you that
Came late from the city,
To ask some pity
Of this lass so pretty,
In likeness of a doleful ditty,—
Hang me if I do not pay ye.
Mortimer. O, friar, you grow choleric: well, you'll have no man to
court your mistress but yourself. On my word, I'll take you down a button-hole.
Friar. Ye talk, ye talk, child.
[They fight.

Re-enter LLUELLEN and RICE AP MEREDITH.

Lluellen. 'Tis well, potter; you fight in a good quarrel.
Rice ap Mer. Mass, this blade will hold: let me see, then, friar.
Friar. Mine's for mine own turn, I warrant: give him his tools. Rise,
and let's to it; but no change, an if you love me. I scorn the odds, I can tell
you: see fair play, an you be gentlemen.
Lluellen. Marry, shall we, friar. Let us see:
be their staves of a length? Good: so, now
Let us deem of the matter,
Friar and potter,
Without more clatter;
I have cast your water,
And see as deep into your desire,
As he that had div'd every day into your bosom.
O, friar,
Will nothing serve your turn but larks?
Are such fine birds for such coarse clerks?
None but my Marian can serve your turn.
Elinor. Cast water, for the house will burn.
Friar. O, mistress, mistress, flesh is frail;
'Ware when the sign is in the tail:
Mighty is love and doth prevail.
Lluellen. Therefore, friar, shalt thou not fail,
But mightily your foe assail,
And thrash this potter with thy flail:—
And, potter, never rave nor rail,
Nor ask questions what I ail,
But take this tool, and do not quail,
But thrash this friar's russet coat;
And make him sing a dastard's note,
And cry, Peccavi, miserere David,
In amo amavi. Go to.
[They take the flails.
Mortimer. Strike, strike.
Friar. Strike, potter, be thou lief or loth:
An if you'll not strike, I'll strike for both.
Mortimer. He must needs go that the devil drives.
Then, friar, beware of other men's wives.
[Strikes.
Friar. I wish, master proud potter, the devil have my soul,
But I'll make my flail circumscribe your noul.
[Strikes.
Lluellen. Why, so; now it cottens, now the game begins;
One knave currieth another for his sins.
Friar. [kneeling.] O master, shorten my offences in mine eyes!
If this crucifix do not suffice,
Send me to heaven in a hempen sacrifice.
Mortimer. [kneeling.] O masters, masters, let this be warning!
The friar hath infected me with his learning.
Lluellen. Villains, do not touch the forbidden tree.
Now to delude or to dishonour me.
Friar. O, master, quœ negata sunt grata sunt.
Lluellen. Rice, every day thus shall it be:
We'll have a thrashing set among the friars; and he
That of these challengers lays on slowest load,
Be thou at hand, Rice, to gore him with thy goad.
Friar. Ah potter, potter, the friar may rue
That ever this day this our quarrel he knew;
My pate addle, mine arms black and blue.
Mortimer. Ah friar, who may his fate's force eschew?
I think, friar, you are prettily school'd.
Friar. And I think the potter is handsomely cool'd.
[Exeunt all except MORTIMER.
Mortimer. No, Mortimer; here['s] that eternal fire
That burns and flames with brands of hot desire:
Why, Mortimer, why dost thou not discover
Thyself her knight, her liegeman, and her lover?
[Exit.

Enter BALIOL King of Scots, with his train.

Baliol. Lords of Albania, and my peers in France,
Since Baliol is invested in his rights,
And wears the royal Scottish diadem,
Time is to rouse him, that the world may wot
Scotland disdains to carry England's yoke.
Therefore, my friends, thus put in readiness,
Why slack we time to greet the English king
With resolute message, to let him know our minds?
Lord Versses, though thy faith and oath be ta'en
To follow Baliol's arms for Scotland's right,
Yet is thy heart to England's honour knit:
Therefore, in spite of England and thyself,
Bear thou defiance proudly to thy king;
Tell him, Albania finds heart and hope
To shake off England's tyranny betime,
To rescue Scotland's honour with her sword.—
Lord Bruce, see cast about Versses' neck
A strangling halter, that he mind his haste.—
How say'st thou, Versses, wilt thou do this message?
Versses. Although no common post, yet, for my king,
I will to England, maugre England's might,
And do mine errand boldly, as becomes;
Albeit I honour English Edward's name,
And hold this slavish contemnment to scorn.
Baliol. Then hie away, as swift as swallow flies,
And meet me on our roads on England's ground;
Whither think of thy message and thy haste.
[Sound trumpets. Exit BALIOL with his train.

Enter KING EDWARD LONGSHANKS, LANCASTER, GLOCESTER, SUSSEX, SIR
DAVID,CRESSINGHAM, all booted from Northam.

Longsh. Now have I leisure, lords, to bid you welcome into Wales:
Welcome, sweet Edmund, to christen thy young nephew;—
And welcome, Cressingham; give me thy hand.—
But, Sussex, what became of Mortimer?
We have not seen the man this many a day.
Sussex. Before your highness rid from hence to Northam,
Sir Roger was a suitor to your grace
Touching fair Elinor, Lluellen's love;
And so, belike denied, with discontent
'A discontinues from your royal presence.
Longsh. Why, Sussex, said we not for Elinor,
So she would leave whom she had lov'd too long,
She might have favour with my queen and me?
But, man, her mind above her fortune mounts,
And that's a cause she fails in her accounts.—
But go with me, my Lord of Lancaster;
We will go see my beauteous lovely queen,
That hath enrich'd me with a goodly boy.

The Queen's tent opening, she is discovered in bed, dandling her young
Son, and attended by MARY Duchess of Lancaster, JOAN, and Ladies.

Ladies, by your leave.—
How doth my Nell, mine own, my love, my life,
My heart, my dear, my dove, my queen, my wife?
Q. Elinor. Ned, art thou come, sweet Ned? welcome, my joy!
Thy Nell presents thee with a lovely boy:
Kiss him, and christen him after thine own name.
Heigh-ho!
Whom do I see? my Lord of Lancaster!
Welcome heartily.
Lancaster. I thank your grace: sweet Nell, well met withal.
Q. Elinor. Brother Edmund, here's a kinsman of yours:
You must needs be acquainted.
Lancaster. A goodly boy; God bless him!—Give me your hand, sir:
You are welcome into Wales.
Q. Elinor. Brother, there's a fist, I warrant you, will hold a mace as
fast as ever did father or grandfather before him.
Longsh. But tell me now, lappèd in lily bands,
How with my queen, my lovely boy it stands,
After thy journey and these childbed pains?
Q. Elinor. Sick, mine own Ned, thy Nell for thy company;
That lur'd her with thy lies all so far,
To follow thee unwieldy in thy war.
But I forgive thee, Ned, my life's delight,
So thy young son thou see be bravely dight,
And in Carnarvon christen'd royally.
Sweet love, let him be lapp'd most curiously:
He is thine own, as true as he is mine;
Take order, then, that he be passing fine.
Longsh. My lovely lady, let that care be less:
For my young son the country will I feast,
And have him borne as bravely to the font
As ever yet king's son to christening went.
Lack thou no precious thing to comfort thee,
Dearer than England's diadem unto me.
Q. Elinor. Thanks, gentle lord.—Nurse, rock the cradle: fie,
The king so near, and hear the boy to cry!—
Joan, take him up, and sing a lullaby.
Longsh. 'Tis well, believe me, wench: Godamercy, Joan!
Lancaster. She learns, my lord, to lull a young one of her own.
Q. Elinor. Give me some drink.
Longsh. Drink nectar, my sweet Nell;
Worthy for seat in heaven with Jove to dwell.
Q. Elinor. Gramercies, Ned. Now, well remember'd yet;
I have a suit, sweet lord; but you must not deny it.—
Where's my Lord of Glocester, good Clare, mine host, my guide?—
Good Ned, let Joan of Acon be his bride:
Assure yourself that they are throughly woo'd.
Glocester. [aside.] God send the king be taken in the mood!
Longsh. Then, niece, 'tis like that you shall have a husband.—
Come hither, Glocester: hold, give her thy hand;
Take her, sole daughter to the Queen of England.—
[Gives JOAN to GLOCESTER.
For news he brought, Nell, of my young son,
I promis'd him as much as I have done.
Glocester, Joan.} [hand in hand.] We humbly thank your majesty.
Lancaster. Much joy may them betide,
A gallant bridegroom and a princely bride!
Longsh. Now say, sweet queen, what doth my lady crave?
Tell me what name shall this young Welshman have,
Born Prince of Wales by Cambria's full consent?
Q. Elinor. Edward the name that doth me well content.
Longsh. Then Edward of Carnarvon shall he be,
And Prince of Wales, christen'd in royalty.
Lancaster. My lord, I think the queen would take a nap.
Joan. Nurse, take the child, and hold it in your lap.
Longsh. Farewell, good Joan; be careful of my queen.—
Sleep, Nell, the fairest swan mine eyes have seen.
[They close the tent.—Exit SUSSEX.
Lancaster. I had forgot to ask your majesty
How do you with the abbeys here in Wales?
Longsh. As kings with rebels, Mun; our right prevails.
We have good Robin Hood and Little John,
The Friar and the good Maid Marian:
Why, our Lluellen is a mighty man.
Glocester. Trust me, my lord, methinks 'twere very good
That some good fellows went and scour'd the wood,
And take in hand to cudgel Robin Hood.
I think the Friar, for all his lusty looks,
Nor Robin's rabble with their glaives and hooks,
But would be quickly driven to the nooks.
Sir David. I can assure your highness what I know:
The false Lluellen will not run nor go,
Or give an inch of ground, come man for man;
Nor that proud rebel callèd Little John,
To him that wields the massiest sword of England.
Glocester. Welshman, how wilt thou that we understand?
But for Lluellen, David, I deny;
England hath men will make Lluellen fly,
Maugre his beard, and hide him in a hole,
Weary of England's dints and manly dole.
Lancaster. Glocester, grow not so hot in England's right,
That paints his honour out in every fight.
Longsh. By Gis, fair lords, ere many days be past,
England shall give this Robin Hood his breakfast.—
David, be secret, friend, to that I say,
And if I use thy skill, thou know'st the way
Where this proud Robin and his yeomen roam.
Sir David. I do, my lord, and blindfold thither can I run.
Longsh. David, enough: as I'm a gentleman,
I'll have one merry flirt with Little John,
And Robin Hood, and his Maid Marian.
Be thou my counsel and my company,
And thou mayst England's resolution see.

Re-enter SUSSEX.

Sussex. May it please your majesty, here are four good squires of the
cantreds where they do dwell, come in the name of the whole country to gratulate
unto your highness all your good fortunes, and by me offer their most humble
service to your young son, their prince, whom they most heartily beseech God to
bless with long life and honour.
Longsh. Well said, Sussex! I pray, bid them come near. [Exit
SUSSEX.] Sir David, trust me, this is kindly done of your countrymen.
Sir David. [aside.] Villains, traitors to the ancient glory and
renown of Cambria! Morris Vaughan, art thou there? And thou, proud Lord of
Anglesey?

Re-enter SUSSEX with the four Barons of Wales, carrying the
mantle of frieze. The Barons kneel.

First Baron. The poor country of Cambria, by us unworthy messengers,
gratulates to your majesty the birth of your young son, Prince of Wales, and in
this poor present express their most zealous duty and affection, which with all
humbleness we present to your highness' sweet and sacred hands.
Longsh. Gramercies, barons, for your gifts and good-wills: by this
means my boy shall wear a mantle of country's weaving to keep him warm, and live
for England's honour and Cambria's good. I shall not need, I trust, courteously
to invite you; I doubt not, lords, but you will be all in readiness to wait on
your young prince, and do him honour at his christening.
Sussex. The whole country of Cambria round about, all well-horsed and
attended on, both men and women in their best array, are come down to do service
of love and honour to our late-born prince, your majesty's son and honey: the
men and women of Snowdon especially have sent in great abundance of cattle and
corn, enough by computation for your highness' household a whole month and more.
Longsh. We thank them all; and will present our queen with these
courtesies and presents bestowed on her young son, and greatly account you for
our friends.
[Exeunt Barons.

The Queen's tent opens.

Q. Elinor. Who talketh there?
Longsh. A friend, madam.
Joan. Madam, it is the king.
Elinor. Welcome, my lord. Heigh-ho, what have we there?
Longsh. Madam, the country, in all kindness and duty, recommend their
service and good-will to your son; and, in token of their pure good-will,
present him by us with a mantle of frieze, richly lined to keep him warm.
Elinor. A mantle of frieze! fie, fie! for God's sake let me hear no
more of it, an if you love me. Fie, my lord! is this the wisdom and kindness of
the country? Now I commend me to them all, and if Wales have no more wit or
manners than to clothe a king's son in frieze, I have a mantle in store for my
boy that shall, I trow, make him shine like the sun, and perfume the streets
where he comes.
Longsh. In good time, madam; he is your own; lap him as you list: but I
promise thee, Nell, I would not for ten thousand pounds the country should take
unkindness at thy words.
Elinor. 'Tis no marvel, sure; you have been royally received at their
hands.
No, Ned, but that thy Nell doth want her will,
Her boy should glister like the summer's sun,
In robes as rich as Jove when he triúmphs.
His pap should be of precious nectar made,
His food ambrosia—no earthly woman's milk;
Sweet fires of cinnamon to open him by;
The Graces on his cradle should attend;
Venus should make his bed and wait on him,
And Phœbus daughter sing him still asleep.
Thus would I have my boy us'd as divine,
Because he is King Edward's son and mine:
And do you mean to make him up in frieze?
For God's sake lay it up charily and perfume it against winter; it will make him
a goodly warm Christmas coat.
Longsh. Ah, Mun, my brother, dearer than my life,
How this proud humour slays my heart with grief!—
Sweet queen, how much I pity the effects!
This Spanish pride 'grees not with England's prince:
Mild is the mind where honour builds his bower,
And yet is earthly honour but a flower.
Fast to those looks are all my fancies tied,
Pleas'd with thy sweetness, angry with thy pride.
Q. Elinor. Fie, fie! methinks I am not where I should be;
Or at the least I am not where I would be.
Longsh. What wants my queen to perfect her content?
But ask and have, the king will not repent.
Q. Elinor. Thanks, gentle Edward.—Lords, have at you, then!
Have at you all, long-bearded Englishmen!
Have at you, lords and ladies! when I crave
To give your English pride a Spanish brave.
Longsh. What means my queen?
Glocester. [aside.] This is a Spanish fit.
Q. Elinor. Ned, thou hast granted, and caust not revoke it.
Longsh. Sweet queen, say on: my word shall be my deed.
Q. Elinor. Then shall thy word make many a bosom bleed.
Read, Ned, thy queen's request lapt up in rhyme,
[Gives a paper.
And say thy Nell had skill to choose her time.
Longsh. [reads.] The pride of Englishmen's long
[hair
Is more than England's Queen can bear:
Women's right breast, cut them off all;
And let the great tree perish with the small.
What means my lovely Elinor by this?
Q. Elinor. Not [to] be denied, for my request it is.
Lancaster. Glocester, an old said saying,—He that grants all is
ask'd,
Is much harder than Hercules task'd.
Glocester. [aside.] Were the king so mad as the queen is wood,
Here were an end of England's good.

Longsh. My word is pass'd,—I am well agreed;
Let men's beards milt and women's bosoms bleed.—
Call forth my barbers! Lords, we'll first begin.

Enter two Barbers.

Come, sirrah, cut me close unto the chin,
And round me even, see'st thou, by a dish;
Leave not a lock: my queen shall have her wish.
Elinor. What, Ned, those locks that ever pleas'd thy Nell,
Where her desire, where her delight doth dwell!
Wilt thou deface that silver labyrinth,
More orient than purpled hyacinth?
Sweet Ned, thy sacred person ought not droop,
Though my command make other gallants stoop.
Longsh. Madam, pardon me and pardon all;
No justice but the great runs with the small.—
Tell me, good Glocester, art thou not afeard?
Glocester. No, my lord, but resolv'd to lose my beard.
Longsh. Now, madam, if you purpose to proceed
To make so many guiltless ladies bleed,
Here must the law begin, sweet Elinor, at thy breast,
And stretch itself with violence to the rest.
Else princes ought no other do,
Fair lady, than they would be done unto.
Q. Elinor. What logic call you this? Doth Edward mock his love?
Longsh. No, Nell; he doth as best in honour doth behove,
And prays thee, gentle queen,—and let my prayers move,—
Leave these ungentle thoughts, put on a milder mind;
Sweet looks, not lofty, civil mood become a woman's kind:
And live, as, being dead and buried in the ground,
Thou mayst for affability and honour be renown'd.
Q. Elinor. Nay, an you preach, I pray, my lord, be gone:
The child will cry and trouble you anon.
Mayoress. [aside.] Quo semel est imbuta recens servabit odorem
Testa diu.
Proud incest in the cradle of disdain,
Bred up in court of pride, brought up in Spain,
Dost thou command him coyly from thy sight,
That is thy star, the glory of thy light?
Longsh. O, could I with the riches of my crown
But better thoughts for my renownèd Nell,
Thy mind, sweet queen, should be as beautiful
As is thy face, as are thy features all,
Fraught with pure honour's treasure, and enrich'd
With virtues and glory incomparable.—
Ladies about her majesty, see that the queen your mistress know not so much; but
at any hand our pleasure is that our young son be in this mantle borne to his
christening, for special reasons are thereto moving; from the church, as best it
please your women's wits to devise. You, sweet Joan, see this faithfully
performed; and, hear you, daughter, look you be not last up when this day comes,
lest Glocester find another bride in your stead.—David, go with me.
[Exit with SIR DAVID.
Glocester. She riseth early, Joan, that beguileth thee of a Glocester.
Lancaster. Believe him not, sweet niece: we men can speak smooth for
advantage.
Joan. Women, do you mean, my good uncle? Well, be the accent where it
will, women are women.—I will believe you for as great a matter as this
comes to, my lord.
Glocester. Gramercies, sweet lady, et habebis fidei mercedem
contrá.
[Exeunt.—The Queen's tent is closed.

Enter JACK and his company, to give the Queen music at her tent.

Jack. Come, fellows, cast yourselves even round in a string—a ring I
would say: come, merrily on my word, for the queen is most liberal, and if you
will please her well, she will pay you royally: so, lawful to brave well thy
British lustily to solace our good queen: God save her grace, and give our young
prince a carpell in their kind! Come on, come on, set your crowds, and beat your
heads together, and behave you handsomely.
[Here they play and sing, and then exeunt.

Enter Friar.

Friar. I have a budget in my nose this gay morning, and now will I try
how clerkly the friar can behave himself. 'Tis a common fashion to get gold with
"Stand: deliver your purses!" Friar Davy will once in his days get money by wit.
There is a rich farmer should pass this way to receive a round sum of money: if
he come to me, the money is mine, and the law shall take no vantage; I will cut
off the law as the hangman would cut a man down when he hath shaken his heels
half-an-hour under the gallows. Well, I must take some pains for this gold; and
have at it!
[Spreads the lappet of his gown, and falls to dice.

Enter a Farmer.

Farmer. 'Tis an old said saying, I remember I read it in Cato's
Pueriles, that Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator; a man purse-
penniless may sing before a thief: true, as I have not one penny, which makes me
so pertly pass through these thickets. But indeed I [am to] receive a hundred
marks; and all the care is how I shall pass again. Well, I [am] resolved either
to ride twenty miles about, or else to be so well accompanied that I will not
care for these rufflers.
Friar. Did ever man play with such uncircumcised hands? size-ace to
eleven and lose the chance!
Farmer. God speed, good fellow! why chafest thou so fast? there's
nobody will win thy money from thee.
Friar. Zounds, you offer me injury, sir, to speak in my cast.
Farmer. [aside.] The friar undoubtedly is lunatic.—I pray
thee, good fellow, leave chafing, and get some warm drink to comfort thy brains.
Friar. Alas, sir, I am not lunatic: 'tis not so well, for I have lost
my money, which is far worse. I have lost five gold nobles to Saint Francis; and
if I knew where to meet with his receiver, I would pay him presently.
Farmer. Wouldst thou speak with Saint Francis' receiver?
Friar. O Lord, ay, sir, full gladly.
Farmer. Why, man, I am Saint Francis' receiver, if you would have any
thing with him.
Friar. Are you Saint Francis' receiver? Jesus, Jesus! are you Saint
Francis' receiver? and how does all?
Farmer. I am his receiver, and am now going to him: 'a bids Saint
Thomas a'Waterings to breakfast this morning to a calf's-head and bacon.
Friar. Good Lord, sir, I beseech you carry him these five nobles, and
tell him I deal honestly with him as if he were here present.
[Gives money.
Farmer. I will of my word and honesty, friar; and so farewell.
Friar. Farewell, Saint Francis' receiver, even heartily.
[Exit Farmer.] Well, now the friar is out of cash five nobles, God knows how
he shall come into cash again: but I must to it again. There's nine for your
holiness and six for me.

Enter LLUELLEN, RICE AP MEREDITH, and MORTIMER, with their
Prisoners.

Lluellen. Come on, my hearts: bring forth your prisoners, and let us
see what store of fish is there in their purse-nets.—Friar, why chafest
thou, man? here's nobody will offer thee any foul play, I warrant thee.
Friar. O, good master, give me leave: my hand is in a little; I trust I
shall recover my losses.
Lluellen. The friar is mad; but let him alone with his device.—And
now to you, my masters, Pedler, Priest, and Piper: throw down your budgets in
the mean while, and when the friar is at leisure he shall tell you what you
shall trust to.
Pedler. Alas, Sir, I have but three pence in the corner of my shoe.
Rice ap Mer. Never a shoulder of mutton, Piper, in your tabor? But
soft! here comes company.

Enter KING EDWARD LONGSHANKS, SIR DAVID, and Farmer.

Farmer. Alas, gentlemen, if you love yourselves, do not venture through
this mountain: here's such a coil with Robin Hood and his rabble, that every
cross in my purse trembles for fear.
Longsh. Honest man, as I said to thee before, conduct us through this
wood, and if thou beest robbed or have any violence offered thee, as I am a
gentleman, I will repay it thee again.
Sir David. How much money hast thou about thee?
Farmer. Faith, sir, a hundred marks; I received it even now at
Brecknock. But, out alas, we are undone! yonder is Robin Hood and all the strong
thieves in the mountain. I have no hope left but your honour's assurance.
Longsh. Fear not; I will be my word's master.
Friar. Good master, an if you love the friar,
Give aim a while, I you desire,
And as you like of my device,
So love him that holds the dice.
Farmer. What, friar, art thou still labouring so hard? Will you have
any thing more to Saint Francis?
Friar. Good Lord, are you here, sweet Saint Francis' receiver? How doth
his holiness, and all his good family?
Farmer. In good health, faith, friar: hast thou any nobles for him?
Friar. You know the dice are not partial: an Saint Francis were ten
saints, they will favour him no more than they would favour the devil, if he
play at dice. In very truth, my friend, they have favoured the friar, and I have
won a hundred marks of Saint Francis. Come, sir; I pray, sirrah, draw it over: I
know, sirrah, he is a good man, and never deceives none.
Farmer. Draw it over! what meanest thou by that?
Friar. Why, in numeratis pecuniis legem pone; pay me my winnings.
Farmer. What ass is this! should I pay thee thy winnings?
Friar. Why, art not thou, sirrah, Saint Francis' receiver?
Farmer. Indeed, I do receive for Saint Francis.
Friar. Then I'll make you pay for Saint Francis, that's flat.
Farmer. Help, help! I am robbed, I am robbed!
[Bustling on both sides.
Longsh. Villain, you wrong the man: hands off!
Friar. Masters, I beseech you leave this brawling, and give me leave to
speak. So it is, I went to dice with Saint Francis, and lost five nobles: by
good fortune his cashier came by, [and] received it of me in ready cash. I,
being very desirous to try my fortune further, played still; and as the dice,
not being bound prentice to him or any man, favoured me, I drew a hand and won a
hundred marks. Now I refer it to your judgments, whether the friar is to seek
his winnings.
Longsh. Marry, friar, the farmer must and shall pay thee honestly ere
he pass.
Farmer. Shall I, sir? Why, will you be content to pay half as you
promised me?
Longsh. Ay, farmer, if you had been robbed of it; but if you be a
gamester, I'll take no charge of you, I.
Farmer. Alas, I am undone!
[Gives money and exit.
Lluellen. So, Sir Friar, now you have gathered up your winnings, I pray
you stand up and give the passengers their charge, that Robin Hood may receive
his toll.
Friar. And shall, my lord. Our thrice-re-downed Lluellen, Prince of
Wales and Robin Hood of the great mountain, doth will and command all
passengers, at the sight of Richard, servant unto me Friar David ap Tuck, to lay
down their weapons, and quietly to yield, for custom towards the maintenance of
his highness' wars, the half of all such gold, silver, money, and money-worth,
as the said passenger hath then about him; but if he conceal any part or parcel
of the same, then shall he forfeit all that he possesseth at that present. And
this sentence is irre vocable, confirmed by our lord Lluellen Prince of Wales
and Robin Hood of the great mountain.
Lluellen. So vail your budgets to Robin of the mountain. But what art
thou that disdainest to pay this custom, as if thou scornest the greatness of
the Prince of Wales?
Longsh. Faith, Robin, thou seemest to be a good fellow: there's my bag;
half is mine, and half is thine. But let's to it, if thou darest, man for man,
to try who shall have the whole.
Lluellen. Why, thou speakest as thou shouldst speak.—My masters,
on pain of my displeasure, depart the place, and leave us two to ourselves. I
must lop his longshanks, 'fore I'll ear to a pair of longshanks.
Longsh. They are fair marks, sir, and I must defend as I
may.—Davy, be gone.—Hold here, my hearts: long-legs gives you this
amongst you to spend blows one with another.
[Exeunt Friar, and RICE AP MEREDITH with Prisoners.
Sir David. [aside.] Now Davy's days are almost come at end.
[Retires.
Mortimer. [aside.] But, Mortimer, this sight is strange. Stay thou in
some corner to see what will befall in this battle.
[Retires.
Longsh. Now, Robin of the Wood, alias Robin Hood, be it known to your
worship by these presents, that the longshanks which you aim at have brought the
King of England into these mountains to see Lluellen, and to crack a blade with
his man that supposeth himself Prince of Wales.
Lluellen. What, Sir King! welcome to Cambria. What, foolish Edward,
darest thou endanger thyself to travel these mountains? Art thou so foolish-
hardy as to combat with the Prince of Wales?
Longsh. What I dare, thou seest; what I can perform, thou shalt shortly
know. I think thee a gentleman, and therefore hold no scorn to fight with thee.
Lluellen. No, Edward; I am as good a man as thyself.
Longsh. That shall I try.
[They fight, and SIR DAVID takes LLUELLEN'S part,
and MORTIMER takes KING EDWARD'S.
Hallo, Edward! how are thy senses confounded!—What, Davy, is it possible
thou shouldst be false to England?
Sir David. Edward, I am true to Wales, and so have been friends since
my birth, and that shall the King of England know to his cost.
Lluellen. What, potter, did not I charge you to be gone with your
fellows?
Mortimer. No traitor, no potter I, but Mortimer, the Earl of March;
whose coming to these woods was to deceive thee of thy love, and reserved to
save my sovereign's life.
Sir David. Upon them, brother! let them not breathe.
[KING EDWARD has LLUELLEN down, and SIR DAVID has MORTIMER down.
Longsh. Villain, thou diest! God and my right have prevailed.
Sir David. Base earl! now doth David triumph in thine
overthrow.—Ay is me! Lluellen at the feet of Longshanks!
Longsh. What, Mortimer under the sword of such a traitor!
Mortimer. Brave king, run thy sword up to the hilts into the blood of
the rebel.
Longsh. O, Mortimer, thy life is dearer to me than millions of rebels!
Sir David. Edward, release my brother, and Mortimer lives.
Longsh. Ay, villain, thou knowest too well how dear I hold my
Mortimer.—Rise, man, and assure thee that the hate I bear to thee is love
in respect of the deadly hatred I bear to that notorious rebel.
Mortimer. A way! his sight to me is like the sight of a
cockatrice.—Villain, I go to revenge me on thy treason, and to make thee
pattern to the world of monstrous treason, falsehood, and ingratitude.
[Exeunt KING EDWARD and MORTIMER.
Sir David. Brother, 'a chafes; but hard was your hap to be overmastered
by the coward.
Lluellen. No coward, David: his courage is like to the lion, and were
it not that rule and sovereignty set us at jar, I could love and honour the man
for his valour.
Sir David. But the potter,—O, the villain will never out of my
mind whilst I live! and I will lay to be revenged on his villany.
Lluellen. Well, David, what will be shall be; therefore casting these
matters out of our heads, David, thou art welcome to Cambria. Let us in and be
merry after this cold cooling, and to prepare to strengthen ourselves against
the last threatenings.
[Exeunt.

After the christening and marriage done, theHeralds having attended, they
pass over; the Bride led by two Noblemen, LANCASTER and SUSSEX; and
the Bishop.

Glocester. Welcome, Joan, Countess of Glocester, to Gilbert de Clare
for ever!
Sussex. God give them joy!—Cousin Glocester, let us now go visit
the king and queen, and present their majesties with their young son, Edward
Prince of Wales.

Then all pass in their order to KING EDWARD LONGSHANK'S pavilion: the
King sits in his tent, with his Pages about him.

Bishop. We here present your highness most humbly with your young son,
Edward of Carnarvon, Prince of Wales.
[Sound trumpets.
All. God save Edward of Carnarvon, Prince of Wales!
Longsh. Edward, Prince of Wales, God bless thee with long life and
honour![Kisses him].—Welcome, Joan, Countess of Glocester! God bless
thee and thine for ever![Kisses her.]—Lords, let us visit my queen and
wife, whom we will at once present with a son and daughter honoured to her
desire.

Sound trumpets: they all march to QUEEN ELINOR'S chamber; the Bishop
speaks to her in her bed.

Bishop. We humbly present your majesty with your young son, Edward of
Carnarvon, Prince of Wales.
[Sound trumpets.
All. God save Edward of Carnarvon, Prince of Wales!
Elinor. [After kissing the Prince.] Gramercies, bishop: hold, take
that to buy thee a rochet.
[Gives purse.
—Welcome, Welshman!—Here, nurse, open him and have him to the fire,
for God's sake; they have touzed him, and washed him throughly, an that be
good.—And welcome, Joan, Countess of Glocester! God bless thee with long
life, honour, and heart's-ease!—I am now as good as my word, Glocester; she
is thine: make much of her, gentle earl.
Longsh. Now, my sweet Nell, what more commandeth my queen, that nothing
may want to perfect her contentment?
Elinor. Nothing, sweet Ned; but pray, my king, feast the lords and
ladies royally: and thanks a thousand times, good men and women, to you all for
this duty and honour done to your prince.
Longsh. Master bridegroom, by old custom this is your waiting-
day.—Brother Edmund, revel it now or never for honour of your England's
son.—Glocester, now, like a brave bridegroom, marshal this many, and set
these lords and ladies to dancing; so shall you fulfil the old English proverb,
"Tis merry in hall when beards wag all."

After the show, and the King and Queen, with all the Lords and
Ladies, being in place, enter VERSSES with a halter about his neck.

Longsh. What tidings brings Versses to our court?
Versses. Tidings to make thee tremble, English king.
Longsh. Me tremble, boy! must not be news from Scotland
Can once make English Edward stand aghast.
Versses. Baliol hath chosen at this time to stir;
To rouse him lion-like, and cast the yoke
That Scots ingloriously have borne from thee
And all the predecessors of thy line;
And makes his roads to re-obtain his right,
And for his homage sends thee all despite.
Lancaster. Why, how now, princox! prat'st thou to a king?
Versses. I do my message truly from my king:
This sword and target chide in louder terms.
I bring defiance from King John Baliol
To English Edward and his barons all.
Longsh. Marry, so, methinks, thou defiest me with a witness.
Versses. Baliol, my king, in Berwick makes his court:
His camp he spreads upon the sandy plain,
And dares thee to the battle in his right.
Lancaster. What, court and camp in Englishmen's despite?
Longsh. Hold, messenger: commend me to thy king:
Wear thou my chain, and carry this to him.
Greet all his rout of rebels more or less;
Tell them such shameful end will hit them all:
And wend with this as resolutely back
As thou to England brought'st thy Scottish braves.
Tell, then, disdainfully Baliol from us,
We'll rouse him from his hold, and make him soon
Dislodge his camp and take his wallèd town.
Say what I bid thee, Versses, to his teeth,
And earn this favour and a better thing.
Versses. Yes, King of England, whom my heart beloves:
Think, as I promis'd him to brave thee here,
So shall I bid John Baliol 'base from thee.
Longsh. So shalt thou earn my chain and favour, Versses,
And carry him this token that thou send'st.
Why, now is England's harvest ripe:
Barons, now may you reap the rich renown
That under warlike colours springs in field,
And grows where ensigns wave upon the plains.
False Baliol, Berwick is no hold of proof
To shroud thee from the strength of Edward's arm:
No, Scot; thy treason's fear shall make the breach
For England's pure renown to enter in.
All. Amain, amain, upon these treacherous Scots!
Amain, say all, upon these treacherous Scots!
Longsh. While we with Edmund, Glocester, and the rest,
With speedy journeys gather up our forces,
And beat these braving Scots from England's bounds,
Mortimer, thou shalt take the rout in task
That revel here and spoil fair Cambria.
My queen, when she is strong and well a-foot,
Shall post to London and repose her there.
Then God shall send us haply all to meet,
And joy the honours of our victories.
Take vantage of our foes and see the time,
Keep still our hold, our fight yet on the plain.
Baliol, I come,—proud Baliol and ingrate,—
Prepar'd to chase thy men from England's gate.
[Exeunt.
Enter BALIOL with his train.

Baliol. Princes of Scotland and my loving friends,
Whose necks are overwearied with the yoke
And servile bondage of these Englishmen,
Lift up your horns, and with your brazen hoofs
Spurn at the honour of your enemies.
'Tis not ambitious thoughts of private rule
Have forc'd your king to take on him these arms;
'Tis country's cause; it is the common good
Of us and of our brave posterity.
To arms, to arms!
Versses by this hath told the king our minds,
And he hath brav'd proud England to the proof:
We will remunerate his resolution
With gold, with glory, and with kingly gifts.
First Lord. By sweet Saint Jerome, Versses will not spare
To tell his message to the English king,
And beard the jolly Longshanks to his face,
Were he the greatest monarch in the world.
And here he comes: his halter makes him haste.

Enter VERSSES.

Versses. Long live my lord, the rightful king of Scots!
Baliol. Welcome, Versses! what news from England?
Like to the messenger of Scotland's king?
Versses. Versses, my lord, in terms like to himself,
Like to the messenger of Scottish king,
Defied the peers of England and her lords,
That all her barons trembled at my threats,
And Longshanks' self, as daunted and amaz'd,
Gaz'd on my face, not witting what to say;
Till rousing up he shak'd his threatening hair:
"Versses," quoth he, "take thou King Edward's chain,
Upon condition thou a message do
To Baliol, false perjur'd Baliol";
For in these terms he bade me greet your grace,
And give this halter to your excellence.
I took the chain, and give your grace the rope.
Baliol. You took the chain, and give my grace the rope!—
Lay hold on him.—Why, miscreate recreant,
And dar'st thou bring a halter to thy king?
But I will quite thy pain, and in that chain,
Upon a silver gallows shalt thou hang,
That honour'd with a golden rope of England,
And a silver gibbet of Scotland, thou mayst
Hang in the air for fowls to feed upon,
And men to wonder at.—Away with him!
Away!
[Exeunt.

Enter MORTIMER, with Soldiers, pursuing the rebels

Mortimer. Strike up the drum! follow, pursue, and chase!
Follow, pursue! spare not the proudest he
That havocks England's sacred royalty!
[Exeunt.

Then make the proclamation upon the walls. Sound trumpets. Exeunt.
Enter QUEEN ELINOR.

Q. Elinor. Now fits the time to purge our melancholy,
And be reveng'd upon this London dame.—
Katherine!

Enter KATHERINE.

Katherine. At hand, madam.
Q. Elinor. Bring forth our London Mayoress here.
Katherine. I will, madam.
[Exit.
Q. Elinor. Now, Nell,
Bethink thee of some tortures for the dame,
And purge thy choler to the uttermost.

Enter Mayoress with KATHERINA.

Now, Mistress Mayoress, you have attendance urg'd,
And therefore to requite your courtesy,
Our mind is to bestow an office on you straight.
Mayoress. Myself, my life, and service, mighty queen,
Are humbly at your majesty's command.
Q. Elinor. Then, Mistress Mayoress, say whether will you be
Our nurse or laundress?
Mayoress. Then may it please your majesty
To entertain your handmaid for your nurse,
She will attend the cradle carefully.
Q. Elinor. O, no, nurse; the babe needs no great rocking; it can lull
itself.—Katherine, bind her in the chair, and let me see how she'll become
a nurse. [The Mayoress is bound to the chair.] So: now, Katherine, draw
forth her breast, and let the serpent suck his fill. [The serpent is applied
to her breast.] Why, so; now she is a nurse.—Suck on, sweet babe.
Mayoress. Ah, queen, sweet queen, seek not my blood to spill,
For I shall die before this adder have his fill!
Q. Elinor. Die or die not, my mind is fully pleas'd.—
Come, Katherine: to London now will we,
And leave our Mayoress with her nursery.
Katherine. Farewell, sweet Mayoress: look unto the babe.
[Exeunt QUEEN ELINOR and KATHERINE.
Mayoress. Farewell, proud queen, the author of my death,
The scourge of England and to English dames!—
Ah, husband, sweet John Bearmber, Mayor of London,
Ah, didst thou know how Mary is perplex'd,
Soon wouldst thou come to Wales, and rid me of this pain;
But, O, I die! my wish is all in vain.
[Dies.
Enter LLUELLEN running.

Lluellen. The angry heavens frown on Britain's face
To eclipse the glory of fair Cambria:
With sore aspécts the dreadful planets lower.
Lluellen, basely turn thy back and fly?
No, Welshmen fight it to the last and die;
For if my men safely have got the bride,
Careless of chance I'll reck no sour event.
England's broad womb hath not that armèd band
That can expel Lluellen from his land.

Enter SIR DAVID running, with a halter, ready to hang himself.

Sir David. Fly, Lord of Cambria! fly, Prince of Wales!
Sweet brother, fly! the field is won and lost:
Thou art beset with England's furious troops,
And cursèd Mortimer, like a lion, leads.
Our men have got the bride, but all in vain:
The Englishmen are come upon our backs.
Either flee or die, for Edward hath the day.
For me, I have my rescue in my hand:
England on me no torments shall inflict.
Farewell, Lluellen, while we meet in heaven.
[Exit.
Enter Soldiers.

First Soldier. Follow, pursue!—Lie there, whate'er thou be.
[Slays LLUELLEN with a pike-staff.
Yet soft, my hearts! let us his countenance see.
This is the prince; I know him by his face:
O gracious fortune, that me happy made
To spoil the weed that chokes fair Cambria!
Hale him from hence, and in this bosky wood
Bury his corpse; but for his head, I vow
I will present our governor with the same.
[Exeunt.
Enter the Friar with a halter about his neck.

Friar. Come, my gentle Richard, my true servant, that in some storms hast
stood thy master; hang thee, I pray thee, lest I hang for thee; and down on thy
marrowbones, like a foolish fellow that have gone far astray, and ask
forgiveness of God and King Edward for playing the rake-hell and the rebel here
in Wales. Ah, gentle Richard, many a hot breakfast have we been at together! and
now since, like one of Mars his frozen knights, I must hang up my weapon upon
this tree, and come per misericordiam to the mad potter Mortimer, wring thy
hands, friar, and sing a pitiful farewell to thy pike-staff at parting.
[Sings his farewell to his pike-staff, and then retires.

Enter MORTIMER with Soldiers, and the LADY ELINOR.

Mortimer. Bind fast the traitor and bring him away, that the law may
justly pass upon him, and [he] receive the reward of monstrous treason and
villany, stain to the name and honour of his noble country!—For you that
slew Lluellen and presented us with his head, the king shall reward your fortune
and chivalry.—Sweet lady, abase not thy looks so heavily to the earth: God
and the King of England have honour for thee in store, and Mortimer's heart [is]
at [thy] service and at thy commandment.
Elinor. Thanks, gentle lord; but, alas, who can blame Elinor to accuse
her stars, that in one hour hath lost honour and contentment?
Mortimer. And in one hour may your ladyship recover both, if you
vouchsafe to be advised by your friends.—But what makes the friar here upon
his marrowbones?
Friar. [kneeling.] O, potter, potter, the friar doth sue,
Now his old master is slain and gone, to have a new!
Elinor. [aside.] Ah, sweet Lluellen, how thy death I rue!
Mortimer. Well said, friar! better once than never. Give me thy hand
[raising him]: my cunning shall fail me but we will be fellows yet; and now
Robin Hood is gone, it shall cost me hot water but thou shalt be King Edward's
man: only I enjoin thee this—come not too near the fire; but, good friar,
be at my hand.
Friar. O, sir; no, sir, not so, sir; 'a was warned too lately; none of
that flesh I love.
Mortimer. Come on: and for those that have made their submission and
given their names, in the king's name I pronounce their pardons; and so God save
King Edward!
[Exeunt.

Thunder and lightning. Enter QUEEN ELINOR and JOAN.

Q. Elinor. Why, Joan,
Is this the welcome that the clouds afford?
How dare these disturb our thoughts, knowing
That I am Edward's wife and England's Queen,
Here thus on Charing-Green to threaten me?
Joan. Ah, mother, blaspheme not so!
Your blaspheming and other wicked deeds
Have caus'd our God to terrify your thoughts.
And call to mind your sinful fact committed
Against the Mayoress here of lovely London,
And better Mayoress London never bred,
So full of ruth and pity to the poor:
Her have you made away,
That London cries for vengeance on your head.
Q. Elinor. I rid her not; I made her not away:
By heaven I swear, traitors
They are to Edward and to England's Queen
That say I made away the Mayoress.
Joan. Take heed, sweet lady-mother, swear not so:
A field of prize-corn will not stop their mouths
That say you have made away that virtuous woman.
Q. Elinor. Gape, earth, and swallow me, and let my soul
Sink down to hell, if I were author of
That woman's tragedy!—O, Joan, help, Joan, Thy mother sinks!
[The earth opens and swallows her up.
Joan. O, mother, my help is nothing!—O, she is sunk,
And here the earth is new-clos'd up again!
Ah, Charing-Green, for ever change thy hue,
And never may thy grass grow green again,
But wither and return to stones, because
That beauteous Elinor sunk on thee! Well, I
Will send unto the king my father's grace,
And satisfy him of this strange mishap.
[Exit.

Alarum; a charge: after long skirmish, assault; flourish. Enter KING EDWARD
LONGSHANKS with his train, and BALIOL prisoner.

Longsh. Now, trothless king, what fruits have braving boasts?
What end hath treason but a sudden fall?
Such as have known thy life and bringing up,
Have prais'd thee for thy learning and thy art:
How comes it, then, that thou forgett'st thy books
That school'd thee to forget ingratitude?
Unkind! this hand hath 'nointed thee a king;
This tongue pronounc'd the sentence of thy ruth:
If thou, in lieu of mine unfeignèd love,
Hast levied arms for to attempt my crown,
Now see the fruits: thy glories are dispers'd;
And heifer-like, sith thou hast pass'd thy bounds,
Thy sturdy neck must stoop to bear this yoke.
Baliol. I took this lesson, Edward, from my book,—
To keep a just equality of mind,
Content with every fortune as it comes:
So canst thou threat no more than I expect.
Longsh. So, sir: your moderation is enforc'd;
Your goodly glosses cannot make it good.
Baliol. Then will I keep in silence what I mean,
Since Edward thinks my meaning is not good.
Longsh. Nay, Baliol, speak forth, if there yet remain
A little remnant of persuading art.
Baliol. If cunning [may] have power to win the king,
Let those employ it that can flatter him;
If honour'd deed may reconcile the king,
It lies in me to give and him to take.
Longsh. Why, what remains for Baliol now to give?
Baliol. Allegiance, as becomes a royal king.
Longsh. What league of faith where league is broken once?
Baliol. The greater hope in them that once have fall'n.
Longsh. But foolish are those monarchs that do yield
A conquer'd realm upon submissive vows.
Baliol. There, take my crown, and so redeem my life.
Longsh. Ay, sir; that was the choicest plea of both;
For whoso quells the pomp of haughty minds,
And breaks their staff whereon they build their trust,
Is sure in wanting power they cannot harm.
Baliol shall live; but yet within such bounds
That, if his wings grow flig, they may be clipt.
[Exeunt.

Enter the Potter's Wife and JOHN at the place called the Potter's-hive.

Potter's Wife. John, come away: you go as though you slept. A great knave
and be afraid of a little thundering and lightening!
John. Call you this a little thundering? I am sure my breeches find it
a great deal, for I am sure they are stuft with thunder.
Potter's Wife. They are stuft with a fool, are they not? Will it please
you to carry the lantern a little handsomer, and not to carry it with your hands
in your slops?
John. Slops, quoth you! Would I had tarried at home by the fire, and
then I should not have need to put my hands in my pockets! But I'll lay my life
I know the reason of this foul weather.
Potter's Wife. Do you know the reason? I pray thee, John, tell me, and
let me hear this reason.
John. I lay my life some of your gossips be cross-legged that we came
from: but you are wise, mistress, for you come now away, and will not stay a-
gossipping in a dry house all night.
Potter's Wife. Would it please you to walk and leave off your knavery?
[QUEEN ELINOR rises gradually out of the earth.] But stay, John: what's that
riseth out of the ground? Jesus bless us, John! look how it riseth higher and
higher!
John. By my troth, mistress, 'tis a woman. Good Lord, do women grow? I
never saw none grow before.
Potter's Wife. Hold thy tongue, thou foolish knave: it is the spirit of
some woman.
Q. Elinor. Ha, let me see; where am I? On Charing-Green? Ay, on
Charing-Green here, hard by Westminster, where I was crowned, and Edward there
made king. Ay, 'tis true; so it is: and therefore, Edward, kiss not me, unless
you will straight perfume your lips, Edward.
Potter's Wife. Ora pro nobis! John, I pray, fall to your prayers. For
my life, it is the queen that chafes thus, who sunk this day on Charing-Green,
and now is risen up on Potter's-Hive; and therefore truly, John, I'll go to her.
[Goes to Q. ELINOR.
Q. Elinor. Welcome, good woman. What place is this? sea or land? I pray
show to me.
Potter's Wife. Your grace need not to fear; you are on firm ground: it
is the Potter's-Hive: and therefore cheer your majesty, for I will see you safe
conducted to the court, if case your highness be therewithal pleased.
Q. Elinor. Ay, good woman, conduct me to the court,
That there I may bewail my sinful life,
And call to God to save my wretched soul.
[A cry of "Westward, ho!"
Woman, what noise is this I hear?
Potter's Wife. An like your grace, it is the watermen that call for
passengers to go westward now.
Q. Elinor. That fits my turn, for I will straight with them
To King's-town to the court,
And there repose me till the king come home.
And therefore, sweet woman, conceal what thou hast seen,
And lead me to those watermen, for here
Doth Elinor droop.
John. Come, come; here's a goodly leading of you, is there not? first,
you must make us afeard, and now I must be troubled in carrying of you. I would
you were honestly laid in your bed, so that I were not troubled with you.
[Exeunt.
Enter KING EDWARD LONGSHANKS, LANCASTER, Lords, and a Messenger.

Messenger. Honour and fortune wait upon the crown
Of princely Edward, England's valiant king!
Longsh. Thanks, messenger; and if my God vouchsafe
That wingèd Honour wait upon my throne,
I'll make her spread her plumes upon their heads
Whose true allegiance doth confirm the crown.
What news in Wales? how wends our business there?
Messenger. The false disturber of that wasted soil,
With his adherents, is surpriz'd, my king;
And in assurance he shall start no more,
Breathless he lies, and headless too, my lord.
The circumstance these lines shall here unfold.
[Gives letter.
Longsh. A harmful weed, by wisdom rooted out,
Can never hurt the true engrafted plant.

Enter SIR THOMAS SPENCER.

But what's the news Sir Thomas Spencer brings?
Spencer. Wonders, my lord, wrapt up in homely words,
And letters to inform your majesty.
[Gives letters.
Longsh. O heavens, what may these miracles portend?
Nobles, my queen is sick; but what is more—
Read, brother Edmund, read a wondrous chance.
[LANCASTER reads a line of the Queen's sinking.
Lancaster. And I nor heard nor read so strange a thing!
Longsh. Sweet queen, this sinking is a surfeit ta'en
Of pride, wherewith thy woman's heart did swell;
A dangerous malady in the heart to dwell.—
Lords, march we towards London now in haste:
I will go see my lovely Elinor,
And comfort her after this strange affright.
And where she is importune to have talk
And secret conference with some friars of France,
Mun, thou with me, and I with thee will go,
And take the sweet confession of my Nell;
We'll have French enough to parle with the queen.
Lancaster. Might I advise your royal majesty,
I would not go for millions of gold.
What knows your grace, disguisèd if you wend,
What you may hear, in secrecy reveal'd,
That may appal and discontent your highness?
A goodly creature is your Elinor,
Brought up in niceness and in delicacy:
Then listen not to her confession, lord,
To wound thy heart with some unkind conceit.
But as for Lancaster, he may not go.
Longsh. Brother, I am resolv'd, and go I will,
If God give life, and cheer my dying queen.
Why, Mun, why, man, whate'er King Edward hears,
It lies in God and him to pardon all.
I'll have no ghostly fathers out of France:
England hath learnèd clerks and confessors
To comfort and absolve, as men may do;
And I'll be ghostly father for this once.
Lancaster. [aside.] Edmund, thou mayst not go, although thou die:
And yet how mayst thou here thy king deny?
Edward is gracious, merciful, meek, and mild;
But furious when he finds he is beguil'd.
Longsh. Messenger, hie thee back to Shrewsbury;
Bid Mortimer, thy master, speed him fast,
And with his fortune welcome us to London.
I long to see my beauteous lovely queen.
[Exeunt.

Enter MORTIMER and Officers, the Friar, JACK, and the Harper,
with SIR DAVID drawn on a hurdle, and LLUELLEN'S head on a spear.

Friar. On afore, on afore!
Jack. Hold up your torches for dropping.
Friar. A fair procession.—Sir David, be of good cheer: you cannot
go out of the way, having so many guides at hand.
Jack. Be sure of that; for we go all the highway to the gallows, I
warrant you.
Sir David. I go where my star leads me, and die in my country's just
cause and quarrel.
Harper. The star that twinkled at thy birth,
Good brother mine, hath marr'd thy mirth:
An old said saw, earth must to earth.
Next year will be a piteous dearth
Of hemp, I dare lay a penny,
This year is hang'd so many.
Friar. Well said, Morgan Pigot, harper and prophet for the king's own
mouth.
Jack. "Tum date dite dote dum,"
This is the day, the time is come;
Morgan Pigot's prophecy,
And Lord Lluellen's tragedy.
Friar. Who saith the prophet is an ass
Whose prophecies come so to pass?
Said he not oft, and sung it too,
Lluellen, after much ado,
Should in spite heave up his chin
And be the highest of his kin?
And, see, aloft Lluellen's head,
Empalèd with a crown of lead!—
My lord, let not this sooth-sayer lack,
That hath such cunning in his jack.
Harper. David, hold still your clack,
Lest your heels make your neck crack.
Friar. Gentle prophet, an you love me, forspeak me not: 'tis the worst
luck in the world to stir a witch or anger a wise man.—Master Sheriff, have
we any haste? Best give my horses some more hay.
[Exeunt.

QUEEN ELINOR discovered in bed, attended by JOAN and other Ladies.

Q. Elinor. Call forth those renown'd friars come from France;
[Exit a Lady.
And raise me, gentle ladies, in my bed,
That while this faltering engine of my speech
I learn to utter my concealèd guilt,
I may repeat and so repent my sins.
Joan. What plague afflicts your royal majesty?
Q. Elinor. Ah Joan, I perish through a double war!
First, in this painful prison of my soul,
A world of dreadful sins holp there to fight,
And nature, having lost her working power,
Yields up her earthly fortunes unto death.
Next of a war my soul is over-preas'd,
In thee, my conscience, loaded with misdeeds,
Sits seeing my condition to ensue,
Without especial favour from above.
Joan. Your grace must account it a warrior's cross,
To make resist where danger there is none,
Subdue your fever by precious art,
And help you still through hope of heavenly aid.
Q. Elinor. The careless shepherds on the mountain's tops,
That see the seaman floating on the surge,
The threatening winds conspiring with the floods
To overwhelm and drown his crazèd keel,
His tackle torn, his sails borne overboard,
How pale, like yellow flowers, the captain stands
Upon the hatches, waiting for his jerk,
Wringing his hands that ought to ply the pump,
May blame his fear that laboureth not for life:
So thou, poor soul, may tell a servile tale,
May counsel me; but I that prove the pain
May hear thee talk but not redress my harm.
But ghastly death already is address'd
To glean the latest blossom of my life:
My spirit fails me. Are these friars come?

Re-enter Lady with KING EDWARD LONGSHANKS and LANCASTER in Friars'
weeds.

Longsh. Dominus vobiscum!
Lancaster. Et cum spiritu tuo!
Q. Elinor. Draw near, grave fathers, and approach my bed.—
Forbear our presence, ladies, for a while,
And leave us to our secret conference.
[Exeunt JOAN and Ladies.
Longsh. What cause hath mov'd your royal majesty
To call your servants from their country's bounds,
T' attend your pleasure here in England's court?
Q. Elinor. See you not, holy friars, mine estate,
My body weak, inclining to my grave?
Lancaster. We see and sorrow for thy pain, fair queen.
Q. Elinor. By these external signs of my defects,
Friars, conjecture mine internal grief.
My soul, ah wretched soul, within this breast,
Faint for to mount the heavens with wings of grace,
A hundred by flocking troops of sin,
That stop my passage to my wishèd bowers.
Longsh. The nearer, so the greater hope of health:
And deign to us for to impart your grief,
Who by our prayers and counsel ought to arm
Aspiring souls to scale the heavenly grace.
Q. Elinor. Shame and remorse do stop my course of speech.
Longsh. Madam, you need not dread our conference,
Who, by the order of the holy church,
Are all enjoin'd to sacred secrecy.
Q. Elinor. Did I not think, nay, were I not assur'd,
Your wisdoms would be silent in that case,
No fear could make me to bewray myself.
But, gentle fathers, I have thought it good
Not to rely upon these Englishmen,
But on your troths, you holy men of France:
Then, as you love your life and England's weal,
Keep secret my confession from the king;
For why my story nearly toucheth him,
Whose love comparèd with my loose delights,
With many sorrows that my heart affrights.
Lancaster. My heart misgives.
Longsh. Be silent, fellow friar.
Q. Elinor. In pride of youth, when I was young and fair,
And gracious in the King of England's sight,
The day before that night his highness should
Possess the pleasure of my wedlock's bed,
Caitiff, accursèd monster as I was,
His brother Edmund, beautiful and young,
Upon my bridal couch by my consent
Enjoy'd the flower and favour of my love,
And I became a traitress to my lord.
[The King beholds LANCASTER wofully.
Longsh. Facinus, scelus, infandum nefas!
Lancaster. Madam, through sickness, weakness of your wits, 'twere very
good to bethink yourself before you speak.
Q. Elinor. Good father, not so weak, but that, I wot,
My heart doth rent to think upon the time.
But why exclaims this holy friar so?
O, pray, then, for my faults, religious man!
Longsh. 'Tis charity in men of my degree
To sorrow for our neighbours' heinous sins:
And, madam, though some promise love to you,
And zeal to Edmund, brother to the king,
I pray the heavens you both may soon repent.
But might it please your highness to proceed?
Q. Elinor. Unto this sin a worser doth succeed;
For, Joan of Acon, the supposèd child
And daughter of my lord the English king,
Is basely born, begotten of a friar,
Such time as I was there arriv'd, in France.
His only true and lawful son, my friends,
He is my hope, his son that should succeed,
Is Edward of Carnarvon, lately born.
Now all the scruples of my troubled mind
I sighing sound within your reverend ears.
O, pray, for pity! pray, for I must die.
Remit, my God, the folly of my youth!
My grievèd spirit attends thy mercy-seat.
Fathers, farewell; commend me to my king,
Commend me to my children and my friends,
And close mine eyes, for death will have his due.
[Dies.
Longsh. Blushing I shut these thine enticing lamps,
The wanton baits that made me suck my bane.
Pyropus' harden'd flames did ne'er reflect
More hideous flames than from my breast arise.
What fault more vile unto thy dearest lord!
Our daughter base-begotten of a priest,
And Ned, my brother, partner of my love!
O, that those eyes that lighten'd Cæsar's brain,
O, that those looks that master'd Phœbus' brand,
Or else those looks that stain'd Medusa's far,
Should shrine deceit, desire, and lawless lust!
Unhappy king, dishonour'd in thy stock!
Hence, feignèd weeds! unfeignèd is my grief.
Lancaster. Dread prince, my brother, if my vows avail,
I call to witness heaven in my behalf;
If zealous prayer might drive you from suspect,
I bend my knees, and humbly crave this boon,
That you will drive misdeeds out of your mind.
May never good betide my life, my lord,
If once I dream'd upon this damnèd deed!
But my deceasèd sister and your queen,
Afflicted with recureless maladies,
Impatient of her pain, grew lunatic,
Discovering errors never dream'd upon.
To prove this true, the greatest men of all
Within their learnèd volumes do record
That all extremes end in naught but extremes.
Then think, O king, her agony in death
Bereav'd her sense and memory at once,
So that she spoke she knew nor how nor what.
Longsh. Sir, sir, fain would your highness hide your faults
By cunning vows and glozing terms of art;
And well thou mayst delude these listening ears,
Yet ne'er assuage by proof this jealous heart.
Traitor, thy head shall ransom my disgrace.
Daughter of darkness, whose accursèd bower
The poets feign'd to lie upon Avernus,
Whereas Cimmerian darkness checks the sun,
Dread Jealousy, afflict me not so sore!
Fair Queen Elinor could never be so false:—
Ay, but she' vow'd these treasons at her death,
A time not fit to fashion monstrous lies.
Ah, my ungrateful brother as thou art,
Could not my love, nay, more, could not the law,
Nay, further, could not nature thee allure
For to refrain from this incestuous sin?
Haste from my sight!
[Exit LANCASTER.
[To those within.] Call Joan of Acon here!—
The luke-warm spring distilling from his eyes,
His oaths, his vows, his reasons wrested with remorse
From forth his breast,—impoison'd with suspect,
Fain would I deem that false I find too true.

Re-enter JOAN.

Joan. I come to know what England's king commands.
I wonder why your highness greets me thus,
With strange regard and unacquainted terms.
Longsh. Ah, Joan, this wonder needs must wound thy breast,
For it hath well-nigh slain my wretched heart.
Joan. What, is the queen, my sovereign mother, dead?
Woe's me, unhappy lady, woe-begone!
Longsh. The queen is dead; yet, Joan, lament not thou:
Poor soul, guiltless art thou of this deceit,
That hath more cause to curse than to complain.
Joan. My dreadful soul, assail'd with doleful speech,
Joins me to bow my knees unto the ground,
Beseeching your most royal majesty
To rid your woeful daughter of suspect.
Longsh. Ay, daughter, Joan? poor soul, thou art deceiv'd!
The king of England is no scornèd priest.
Joan. Was not the Lady Elinor your spouse,
And am not I the offspring of your loins?
Longsh. Ay, but when ladies list to run astray,
The poor supposèd father wears the horn,
And pleating leave their liege in princes' laps.
Joan, thou art daughter to a lecherous friar;
A friar was thy father, hapless Joan;
Thy mother in confession 'vow'd no less,
And I, vile wretch, with sorrow heard no less.
Joan. What, am I, then, a friar's base-born brat?
Presumptuous wretch, why prease I 'fore my king?
How can I look my husband in the face?
Why should I live since my renown is lost?
Away, thou wanton weed! hence, world's delight!
[Falls grovelling on the ground.
Longsh. L'orecchie abbassa, come vinto e stanco
Destrier c'ha in bocca il fren, gli sproni al fianco.—
O sommo Dio, come i giudicii umani
Spesso offuscati son da un nembo oscuro!—
Hapless and wretched, lift up thy heavy head;
Curse not so much at this unhappy chance;
Unconstant Fortune still will have her course.
Joan. My king, my king, let Fortune have her course:—
Fly thou, my soul, and take a better course.
Ay's me, from royal state I now am fall'n!
You purple springs that wander in my veins,
And whilom wont to feed my heavy heart,
Now all at once make haste, and pity me,
And stop your powers, and change your native course;
Dissolve to air, you lukewarm bloody streams,
And cease to be, that I may be no more.
You curled locks, draw from this cursèd head:
Abase her pomp, for Joan is basely born!—
Ah, Glocester, thou, poor Glocester, hast the wrong!—
Die, wretch! haste death, for Joan hath liv'd too long.
[Suddenly dies at the Queen's bed's feet.
Longsh. Revive thee, hapless lady; grieve not thus.—
In vain speak I, for she revives no more.
Poor hapless soul, thy own repeated moans
Have wrought thy sudden and untimely death.—
Lords, ladies, haste!

Re-enter Ladies with GLOCESTER and Lords, running.

Ah, Glocester, art thou come?
Then must I now present a tragedy.
Thy Joan is dead: yet grieve thou not her fall;
She was too base a spouse for such a prince.
Glocester. Conspire you, then, with heavens to work my harms?
O sweet assuager of our mortal 'miss,
Desirèd death, deprive me of my life,
That I in death may end my life and love!
Longsh. Glocester, thy king is partner of thy heaviness,
Although nor tongue nor eyes bewray his mean;
For I have lost a flower as fair as thine,
A love more dear, for Elinor is dead.
But since the heavenly ordinance decrees
That all things change in their prefixèd time,
Be thou content, and bear it in thy breast,
Thy swelling grief, as need is I must mine.
Thy Joan of Acon, and my queen deceas'd,
Shall have that honour as beseems their state.
You peers of England, see in royal pomp
These breathless bodies be entombèd straight,
With 'tirèd colours cover'd all with black.
Let Spanish steeds, as swift as fleeting wind,
Convey these princes to their funeral:
Before them let a hundred mourners ride.
In every time of their enforc'd abode,
Rear up a cross in token of their worth,
Whereon fair Elinor's picture shall be plac'd.
Arriv'd at London, near our palace-bounds,
Inter my lovely Elinor, late deceas'd;
And, in remembrance of her royalty,
Erect a rich and stately carvèd cross,
Whereon her stature shall with glory shine,
And henceforth see you call it Charing-cross;
For why the chariest and the choicest queen,
That ever did delight my royal eyes,
There dwells in darkness whilst I die in grief.
But, soft! what tidings with these pursuivants?

Enter Messenger.

Mess. Sir Roger Mortimer, with all success,
As erst your grace by message did command,
Is here at hand, in purpose to present
Your highness with his signs of victory.
And trothless Baliol, their accursèd king,
With fire and sword doth threat Northumberland.
Longsh. How one affliction calls another over!
First death torments me, then I feel disgrace!
And false Baliol means to brave me too;
But I will find provision for them all:
My constancy shall conquer death and shame.
[Exeunt all except GLOCESTER.
Glocester. Now, Joan of Acon, let me mourn thy fall.
Sole, here alone, now sit thee down and sigh,
Sigh, hapless Glocester, for thy sudden loss:
Pale death, alas, hath banish'd all thy pride,
Thy wedlock-vows! How oft have I beheld
Thy eyes, thy looks, thy lips, and every part,
How nature strove in them to show her art,
In shine, in shape, in colour, and compare!
But now hath death, the enemy of love,
Stain'd and deform'd the shine, the shape, the red,
With pale and dimness, and my love is dead.
Ah, dead, my love! vile wretch, why am I living?
So willeth fate, and I must be contented:
All pomp in time must fade, and grow to nothing.
Wept I like Niobe, yet it profits nothing:
Then cease, my sighs, since I may not regain her,
And woe to wretched death that thus hath slain her!
[Exit.

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