FROM THE INCOME OF THE FISKE ENDOWMENT FUND THE BEQUEST OF Librarian of the University- 1868-1883 190S * .(\,aqs'Gt5:,.. - ..::.:;: ^Mli^. 3184 Cornell University Library PR2665.A115 Marlowe's Edward II: 3 1924 013 132 232 All books are subject to recall after two weeks. Olln/Kroch Library DATE DUE 'm^ A^QBSmm im4 -fi^-IOri/^ 1 Rj^ -HCH r*m. GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.S A \1 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 31 32232 MARLOWE'S EDWARD II MARLOWE'S EDWARD II EDITED BY WILLIAM DINSMORE BRIGGS, Ph.d. ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE LELAND STANFORD, JR., UNIVERSITY LONDON DAVID NUTT 17 GRAPE STREET, NEW OXFORD STREET, W.C. 1914 ^ /\>i G 35 •/. ?' o4 * 0''-J'^cu-/''Cj<-'> kW/s- CONTENTS Prefatory Note Introduction . Text . List of Dates . Notes . Index . PAGE vii ix I 99 103 207 PREFATORY NOTE A GOOD deal of the material embodied in the Intro- duction to this volume was originally contained in a doctorate thesis submitted by the author to Harvard University in 1900. Much water, however, has run under the bridge since that year, and the Introduction in its present form is quite different from the thesis. Certain ideas that I then flattered myself were more or less new are now commonplace enough ; the ' chronicle history ' has been carefully studied in the last few years, and hardly any com- petent scholar who attentively examines the subject can fail to discover for himself the principal features of its development. I cannot then pretend to offer to the world any large fund of new information. Nevertheless, I venture to print this account of the growth of an interesting and important species of the drama in the hope that the reader will find it to be at least a useful collection of material. The emphasis, for purposes of clear presentation, has been laid upon the development of what is called ' form.' Quite obviously there is no fixed hne to be drawn between form and content, and the distinction represents an abstraction from the facts for scientific convenience. This defect, however, viii EDWARD II inheres in every attempt to give a rationalized account of an evolutionary and hence non-rational process, and is involved in the basic assumptions of the scientific method. The facts are, then, to a certain extent distorted, but I have tried to distort them as little as possible. My thanks are due for criticism and assistance of various kinds to Professor A. H. Thorndike, Pro- fessor Ewald Fliigel, Professor Frederick Tupper, Junr., and to Professor George P. Baker, under whose direction the thesis was originally written. To Professor W. H. Hulme, who was kind enough to collate Quartos 3 and 4, I am especially indebted. EDWARD II INTRODUCTION If truth is often stranger than fiction, there is good reason why it should be so. Life is not at all con- cerned to abide by our standards of the probable and the credible, and outrages them at times with the utmost nonchalance. Art, however, being our creature, must conform to our habits of thought and feeling, and so there arises in aesthetic theory the canon of dramatic credibility. Yet very natu- rally the canon is variously interpreted at different times, and it may be entirely ignored, so that when something happens, for instance, on the stage, its occurrence will often be accepted by the spectator on grounds quite irrelevant to any considerations of art. The mere fact that it has occurred in real life will often suffice to make it satisfactory or pleasur- able, without regard to whether it is in itself plau- sibly presented. As in the story told by Thomas Leaf in Hardy's novel, the interest does not reside in the logical evolution of the episode, but simply in the bare historical character of it, its existence as a X EDWARD II brute fact irrespective of relation and significance. Even Dryden, in a very well-known passage,* showed that he did not escape the heresy. A hun- dred years before Dryden the problem of artistic or dramatic credibility, when it occurred to critics or readers or spectators at all, was quite completely solved by the Horatian principle of ' decorum '^ as regards character, and by the unities as regards in- cident.* Even when the Elizabethan drama was at its apogee, one may doubt whether the question presented itself in other terms, so far as formal criticism went, except that Jonson helped to make matters a little more definite perhaps by the sharp line he drew between proper and improper subjects of comedy. Yet when Jonson came to write his- torical tragedy, he confined himself to the drama- tization of recorded fact, and refused to introduce anything for which he did not have some kind of ' Neander says in the Essay of Dramatic Poesy that Jonson had been blamed for the character of Morose in the Epicoene on the ground that his ' humour ' is forced and unnatural. To this re- proach Neander himself replies to the effect that we may suppose Morose to have been of a naturally dehcate hearing and of a peevish disposition. More especially, " I am assured from divers persons, that Ben Jonson was actually acquainted with such a man, one altogether as ridiculous as he is here represented." It is clear from the tenor of the discussion following that this consideration was thought by Dryden to be decisive. ^ See, for example, the preface to Whetstone's Promos and Cassandra and Jonson's remark to Drummond {Conversations, iii.) " that Sidney did not keep a decorum in making every one speak as well as himself." 3 When Sidney ridicules contemporary drama in the Apology for Poetry he does not mean so much that the incidents it utilized are in themselves absurd or incredible, as that their representation is inconsistent with the unities. INTRODUCTION xi historical warrant. As a result he failed in the case of Sejanus to construct anything like a satisfactory plot, and he showed that he saw no essential differ- ence between the respective functions of the his- torian and the historical dramatist.^ In the Elizabethan drama at large there is clearly seen the same general willingness to accept factual basis as in itself a sufficient ground for representation on the stage. No doubt for the EUzabethan many things were of their own nature dramatically credible that to-day are not, as for example witchcraft, and " the grounds of belief " of the Elizabethan audience would have to be extensively studied before we could determine how far dramatic credibility was really dis- regarded at that time. The broad fact remains, however, that the playwright could hope for a larger audience and the publisher for a larger sale by advertising that the episode dealt with in a particular play was an episode that had actually taken place and was not merely imagined.^ The interest that many spectators had in witnessing ' See Introduction to edition of Sejanus, Belles Lettres Series, 191 1, XVI, XXIII, XLI, LIV-V. ^ Thus Truth asserts superior claims to those of Poetry in the Induction to The True Tragedy of Richard III. In the Induc- tion to A Warning for Fair Women, although Tragedy does drive History and Comedy from the stage, yet she turns immediately to the audience and emphasizes the fact that the play dramatizes an actual happening ; and in the epilogue she says : Perhaps it may seem strange unto you all That one hath not revenged another's death. After the observation of such course : The reason is, that now of truth I sing. And should I add or else diminish aught. xii EDWARD II Arden of Fever sham was in kind though doubtless not in degree precisely the interest they would have taken in witnessing the murder itself, and is closely analogous to the interest taken by spectators to-day in seeing on the stage not an imitation but a real fire-engine or cow or old oaken bucket. It is at once clear that such a predisposition will have important bearings on the selection of material, on its treat- ment, and incidentally upon problems of definition and classification. Not infrequently in Elizabethan literature we encounter lists of various kinds of dramatic entertain- ments such as the following : comedies, histories, tragedies, pastorals, morals, shows, ^ in which there seems apparent some attempt at a classification for purposes of convenience. Clearly, however, only for purposes of convenience, since it is plain that no such list is based on any consistent principle of grouping, and often a given play might pass from one to another of these categories according to the Many of these spectators then could say, I have committed error in my play. Bear with this true and home-born tragedy. Yielding so slender argument and scope To build a matter of importance on. And in such form as haply you expected. What now hath failed to-morrow you shall see Performed by History or Comedy. Sidney Lee, French Renaissance in England, 1910, 407, points out similar claims to truthfulness on the part of French " domestic tragedies ' of the second half of the sixteenth century. 1 Cf. Heywood's Apology for Actors, Sh. Soc. Publ., 1841, pp. 28, 54 ; patent issued by James to Shakespeare's company in 1603 (printed in Whalley's Jonson, 1756, I, Ixii) ; Hamlet, II, ii, 414 f[. INTRODUCTION xiii taste and fancy of the classifier. The apphcation of these terms by the Ehzabethans is often irritatingly vague and apparently illogical. Nevertheless the list corresponds to certain real though blurred distinctions made both by playwright and by audience. A ' history ' might contain comic or tragic elements, or both, and according to their relative prominence might be called a comedy or a tragedy ; and yet the word ' history ' had certain connotations of a more or less well-defined character. It acquired these connotations, however, gradually, for it did not possess them when it came first to be used ^ in connection with plays, and they never became quite so definite as to preclude entirely the use of the word in a looser way.^ At times the author or publisher felt a desire to avoid ambiguity ' The word occurs first in the Revels Accounts (ed. Feuillerat, 1908, p. 129) for 1571 : " The histories plaied & Devises in Maskes this yeare showen at the Coorte." (Cf. also p. 11, 1572-3.) 14 Deceniber, 1574, occurs " the history of Phedrastus & Phigon and Lucia." From 1576 on the word is almost the prevailing term, and is applied to all sorts of plays without apparent reference to subject- matter or treatment. For instance, Brotanek, Englische Masken- spiele,igo2, pp. 49, 93, thinks that the " Historye of the Cenofalles," 1576 (Feuillerat, 256), was a mask. (The word ' historia ' and its derivatives were used on the Continent in the same indiscriminate way, and we are probably to infer foreign influence as regards the English use.) An inspection of printed titles, as in Greg, A List of English Plays, etc., 1900, seems to show a gradual though never rigid restriction of the word to dramas based on fact (or supposed fact). Yet Henslowe, I believe, uses the word only in connection with Dekker's Old Fortunatus and with a play called the Unfortunate General, about which nothing is known. ' History of Orlando Furioso, pr. 1594 ; History of the two valiant Knights, Sir Clyomon, etc., pr. 1599 ; History of Antonio and Mellida, pr. 1602. In view of such titles, one might very well ask whether Greene really did intend to impose upon the public by calling his James IV a, Scottish history ; see post. xiv EDWARD II or to emphasize the veridical quaUty of his play, and then he would substitute for ' history ' a phrase like ' true tragedy '^ or add a reference to his putative source, as in The Famous Chronicle of Edward the First, pr. 1593. ^ Other characteristic titles, designed to emphasize truth at the expense of fiction, are The Troublesome Reign of Edward the Second, The True and Honorable Historie of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, etc. In other words, by 1600 there had come into existence a large number of plays whose appeal was based mainly on the advertised authen- ticity of their subject-matter. Such plays, whether the facts they dealt with were drawn from English, Roman, or Oriental sources, would all belong to the general group of histories. We must beware of the assumption that what the Elizabethan meant by history was necessarily what we mean by the term. Without dwelling at length on the distinction, which will come out more clearly in the course of these pages, let us note the fact that the guarantee of writer or publisher as expressed in the title of a play is by no means always to be trusted. Peele in Edward I, in addition to utilizing second- rate Robin Hood ballads, presented Elinor of Castile in a light that he must have known was grossly false. More than one dramatist employed 1 The first use of this phrase occurs on the title-page of Arden of Feversham, pr. 1592. We cannot, of course, always be certain that the printed title was the title originally given by the author, so that all of these dates are dates of publication ; but the phrases them- selves were doubtless current much earlier. » Earliest occurrence of ' Chronicle History,' Stationers' Register, 1594, The most famous Chronicle History of Leir, etc. INTRODUCTION xv tradition or at need his own freely exercised imagina- tion to provide incident or to portray character. In this attitude toward their material, playwrights of 1600 were but continuing, as we shall see, usages and customs of the religious drama itself. How far the Elizabethan public believed in a given play, how far it condoned such uncritical or unscrupulous treatment of historical episodes, how far it protested, are points that will be brought up again. It is clear that we cannot draw a sharp line of demarcation between histories and other plays solely on the basis of their contents, and it is equally clear that to many of the incidents handled the epithet historical cannot be applied in its larger sense. A sensational murder of forty years back is for us an historical fact, but hardly the true subject-matter of historical drama. Such a distinction the Elizabethans did not ap- parently draw in any explicit fashion, though they felt undoubtedly a profound difference in tone and atmosphere between Arden and Henry VI. Yet both plays were histories, and for that matter chronicle histories also, differing in dignity and power of inspiration, but not differently classified. A distinction based on subject-matter, however, does seem to appear when we compare plays dealing with English history and those dealing with the past of other nations. Difference of source and difference of character apparently co-operated to bring about a fairly well-recognized grouping. Nashe says, for example : " Nay, what if I prooue Playes to be no extreame ; but a rare exercise of xvi EDWARD II vertue ? First, for the subiect of them (for the most part) it is borrowed out of our Enghsh Chronicles, wherein our forefathers vahant acts (that haue line long buried in rustie brasse and worme-eaten bookes) are reuiued, and they themselves raised from the Graue of ObUuion, and brought to pleade their aged Honours in open presence : than which, what can be a sharper reproofe to these degenerate effeminate dayes of ours ? " How would it have ioyed braue Talbot (the terror of the French) to thinke that after he had lyne two hundred yeares in his Tombe, hee should triumphe againe on the Stage, and haue his bones newe embalmed with the teares of ten thousand spectators at least, (at seueraU times), who, in the Tragedian that represents his person, imagine they behold him fresh bleeding. . . . " Al Artes to them are vanitie : and, if you teU them what a glorious thing it is to haue Henrie the fifth represented on the Stage, leading the French King prisoner," etc.^ For contemporaries, then, a chronicle history was a play that drew, or purported to draw, its materials from the English chronicles, or from some practically equivalent source. Accordingly, Shake- speare's Lear was a chronicle history, and was so called on the title-page of the quarto of 1608, on which also occurs the characteristic phrase, " life and death." Macbeth is called merely ' The Tragedy of 1 Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to the Diuell, McKerrow's Nashe, I, 212 f. INTRODUCTION xvii Macbeth,' but is, of course, as much a chronicle history as is Lear. At the same time these plays differ greatly in method and purpose from Edward I and Henry VI, and that difference must be taken into account, though in searching for a stable criterion to incorporate with the Ehzabethan defini- tion we must keep in mind several facts. In the first place, the chronicle history, as has already been indicated and as will appear more plainly, shades off with the greatest ease into other types of drama, pure comedy, satirical comedy, tragi-comedy, tragedy. In the second, our criterion must be measurably indepen- dent of the unequal poetic gifts of individual writers. Shakespeare's King John is full of noble poetry and deep knowledge of human life and character, as the old King John is not ; both are chronicle histories. Thirdly, though some chronicle histories are animated by a lofty patriotic fervour, yet in others that mood is absent or at least subdued, and one sees plainly that the playwright uses chronicle material in the way he would use any material of which the public was fond, as a catch-penny. No doubt these facts are never to be lost sight of, but no definition could ex- phcitly recognize all of them. Our criterion must then obviously be based on the organization of material to definite ends. With this must, as suggested, be combined the Elizabethan distinction as to sources, partly because it was the Elizabethan distinction and partly because one cannot, on the basis of ' form ' alone, distinguish fundamentally between chronicle histories and other histories, nor xviii EDWARD II between histories and at least some other Eliza- bethan plays that do not have at all an historical character, hke Old Fortunatus. Let us look for the moment at Heywood's Edward 7F/ a typical chronicle history of the period during which this kind of play was most popular. The first part contains twenty-seven scenes, which are divided among five distinct lines of interest. The first of these occupies merely the opening scene, and is that of the opposition of the king's mother to his marriage with Elizabeth Woodvile. The treatment of this episode is quite characteristic of the chronicle history method. Such emphasis is laid upon this opposition that we are led to suppose that in the marriage is to be found the key to the entire action of the play. We are confirmed in this inference by what we know from other sources of the history of the period. From this union sprang Warwick's rebeUion, the temporary expulsion of Edward from the kingdom, his return, and the internecine conflict that terminated in the bloody battles of Bamet and Tewkesbury, all of which form, if not the chief, perhaps the most interesting part of Edward's reign. It is for a drama dealing with these events that the first scene prepares us. Yet in the following pages they are not even referred to, are passed over as though they had never taken place. Between the first scene and the second an interval of seven years is annihilated. > In two parts, printed 1600. Works of Hey wood, 1874, I. The play is not djvj^^d iiitp acts. INTRODUCTION xix The four other lines of interest that are taken up are as follows : the rebellion of Falconbridge, the king's meeting with Hobs, the tanner of Tamworth, the French wars, and the story of Jane Shore. The first and second of these, occupjdng respectively fourteen and seven scenes, are completely disposed of in the first part of the play, while the third and fourth are continued into the second part. There is no sort of organic connection between any two of these episodes. The materials for the treat- ment of some of them are drawn from, the chronicles, for others from tales or ballads current among the people, and they are brought together solely through the fact that in all of them the king is concerned. Yet in one of them the part that he plays is slight, for in the Falconbridge rebellion he appears only at the last moment for the distribution of rewards. The second part displays the same structural features, though we have only three lines of interest to follow. The first and second of these, the French war and the Shore episode, are continued from the previous portion of the drama, and the third is the Gloster plot. Of these the first is finished up out of hand. Between the remaining two there exists again merely another link of personality. In completing his unhistorical treatment of the story of Shore and his wife, Heywood introduced the figure of Gloster, and seems then to have thought that he could not do better than throw in a few scenes dealing with themes of such universal interest as the killing of Clarence and the murder of the princes. XX EDWARD II An important fact is that the action of the second part is not brought to a close with the death of the principal personage, for, though Edward dies in the eleventh scene, the play is prolonged for some ten scenes more.^ Nor is there any decline in interest, as Gloster merely takes the place of Edward. We could desire no better illustration of the essential nature of the type. Heywood might readily have gone on to dramatize the events of Richard's reign, have passed with a similar f aciUty from Richard to Henry VII, and have continued down to his own day. As matters stand the play is broken sharply off in the midst of the interesting, characteristic, and eventful quarrel between Richard and Buckingham. ^ ^ So in Arden of Feversham, in which the action runs on for five scenes after the death of Arden himself. Cf . True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York=3 Henry VI, and the second part of Robert Earl of Huntingdon. 2 The attempt of Schelling, Chronicle Play, 143-52, to show that the Shore plot is really the central part of the play, and hence serves as its kernel, seems to me only partly successful, if so much. His statement that it is the only one common to the two parts is inaccurate, since the French wars are prepared for in the last scenes of pt. I, though the actual expedition into France is not taken up until pt. 2. Moreover, the Shore episode is not really entered upon until two-thirds of pt. i is over, unless the appearance of Shore in a totally different connection in certain earlier scenes is inconsistent with that statement. The whole of the Falconbridge rebellion, the marriage scene, and the greater part of the episode of Hobs precede it, and in the last third of the play much space is devoted to concluding that episode and to preparing for the French war. In pt. 2 the Shore interest occupies relatively more space, but the French war is fully handled in complete independence of it, and other scenes toward the end serve to dissipate the dramatic interest quite as thoroughly as in pt. I. Thus as regards method Edward IV may still be con- sidered to be as nearly typical as any single play can be, for the pro- cess by which the action of the piece is complicated may be illus- trated by the arithmetical series i-l-i-|-i . . ., the series being theoretically limited only by external conditions of time and space. INTRODUCTION xxi Evidently there is not to be discovered in Edward IV any attempt to present events otherwise than in their accidental or chronological relations. No doubt there appears to be an attempt to create a kind of pseudo-unity by the use of various tricks that may have easily seemed in the early days of the develop- ment of dramatic technique to be more than mere tricks, 1 i.e. the annihilation of time-intervals, the interpolation of scenes from one episode into another, and the interpolation into one incident of figures from another incident. There is, however, no real correlation of material. Each line of interest is independent of every other, save as all are linked together through the personality of Edward. Let us then define the chronicle history as a dramatic composition purporting to draw its materials from the chroiicles (or from an equivalent source), treating those materials in a way to bring out their accidental (particularly their chronological) * It would be wholly uncritical not to emphasize the fact that the comments above are made from the modern point of view, and not to ask the question how far the generality of Elizabethan play- wrights down to 1600 and beyond had definite conceptions of unified structure. The only unity of plot spoken of in the formal criticism of the day was the unity of classical drama, and that unity, however much desired by some writers for the popular stage, could be attained only by classical methods. These they could not employ. The conception of the other type of unity was of necessity a growth. It may very well have been that Heywood, and others like him, if they considered the problem at all, really believed that by the use of such devices they had succeeded in attaining unification. A careful and detailed study of the development of the idea of unity in the modern drama is a desideratum. Such discussions as in Friedland, " Dramatic Unities in England," Journal of Eng. and Germ. Phil., X, 1911, or in Lounsbury's Shakespearean Wars, Vol. I, cover only a small portion of the ground. xxii EDWARD II relations, recognizing as a rule no other principle of connection than that of personahty, and having the general character of a survey of a more or less arbitrarily Umited period. ^ Need we contrast this method with that of Leaf ? Certainly at no greater length than to note that, whereas Heywood intended not to develop a plot, but to narrate a series of events, Shakespeare desired not merely to narrate a series of events, but also to develop a plot. The one produced an historical drama, the other a chronicle history. To draw any sharp line of demarcation between the two is perhaps impossible. We may say only that the chronicle history passes into the historical drama when the emphasis is shifted from accidental to organic relations, from fost hoc to propter hoc. It will interest us to see just how the shift came to be made and from just what point of view. II It would be a mistake to draw the inference that the method typical of the chronicle drama developed within the chronicle drama itself, and I desire to point out, at the risk of saying some things that are the pure commonplaces of dramatic history, that the ' form ' defined in the preceding section, so far at 1 Professor Gregory Smith says [Cambridge History of Eng. Lit., V, 152) : " It is a reasonable question whether there is any such genre as the chronicle or history play, for the term, in its strictest sense, means no more than a play, presumably a tragedy, which draws its subject from the national annals." INTRODUCTION xxiii any rate as the general arrangement and massing of material were concerned, was in existence and wide use before the chronicle plays were thought of. In the rehgious drama the human interest, though it had perhaps existed in a measure from the begin- ning, was distinctly subordinated, so long as this drama remained under the control of the clergy, to the interest of worship and reverence. Later, however, upon the transference of the conduct of the religious plays to secular hands, it became more and more prominent, and with its development went on the development of characterization. A good touch in characterization brought about an extension of the human interest, and an extension of the human interest afforded additional oppor- tunities for characterization, until at length in more than one play the merely human interest came to overshadow the religious. Characterization, however, involves in a certain degree action ; a figure must express itself partly through what it does. Furthermore, this action is likely to come more and more to exist for its own sake, since rehgion, in such a state of society and in such a grade of culture as that of the miracle play audience, affects all men in pretty much the same way. At the same time, action proceeds by incidents, and incidents are the raw material of plot. Side by side with the religious plot, if such it may be called, there tended to grow up a secular plot, that was but loosely connected with it. Of this process as accomphshed, the best and most xxiv EDWARD II familiar example is perhaps to be found in the Towneley Secunda Pastorum, wherein we have not merely two plots unconnected with each other except through the personaUties of the actors, but also actors in each plot that do not appear in the other. In other words, the Enghsh drama was at its outset purely religious ; later it added the element of realism, and thus the unity of effect was destroyed. This advance, since the religious element could not be discarded, brought about the develop- ment of two plots — there was the drama of religion plus the drama of manners. Looking at the matter from another point of view and somewhat more in detail, we may say that the development of plot in the religious drama proceeded in several ways. Originally we have a simple incident taken from the Bible and told in bibUcal, at least liturgical language, such as the trope, entitled Angelica de Resurrectione ChHsH,^ which, it must be emphasized, is a mere incident and not a plot or combination of incidents. Expansion may take place in either of two ways : another incident already dramatized may be added to the first, or one not previously treated may be taken from the biblical text and combined with it. The result will be like the Easter Office as Manly prints it,^ in which at least two incidents are dramatized, the meeting of the Maries with the angel and their further meeting with the disciples. Thus we begin to get a combination of incidents, a fairly connected and ' Manly, Specimens, I, xxi. " pp. xxii ff. INTRODUCTION xxv complete story, as in the fragments of liturgical plays given by Manly from Skeat. In aU these cases, however, there is little or no addition to the material supplied by the biblical narrative. The dialogue is the liturgical dialogue, and the situations and the figures that take part in them are aU to be found in the original version of the story. When realism enters into a play in which the development of plot has not proceeded further than this stage, then we get an approximation to real life in the delineation of figures and incidents that are strictly scriptural, as in the Abraham and Isaac, which exhibits great tragic power, yet adds little in the way of incident to the original framework. The desire for realism was satisfied in other ways as well. The inevitable expansion of the dialogue may very weU suggest illustrative incidents, ^ without materially altering the main outlines of the story. If we compare the Chester Noah play, in which Noah's wife protests but feebly against the plans of her husband, with the same incident in the Towneley cycle, we shall see how easily and naturally this introduction of new episodes may proceed without changing to any appreciable extent the original form of the situation. Expansion, however, might proceed along slightly different lines. The bibUcal narrative might suggest the treatment of incidents only in a remote degree • This tendency to illustrate by incidents what is in the original merely a dialogue is elsewhere exemplified. See latter part of note I, page xxxii. xxvi EDWARD II connected with it. Thus in Chester VI the scenes in which Octavian figures, although related to the main theme, are not woven into it as are the additions just mentioned. From such interpolations it is an easy transition to those that are really unrelated to the central theme. These again may very well have as their source perhaps bits of dialogue originally introduced merely for a reahstic purpose. In its earher stage this process is well represented in the first Shepherds' Play of the Towneley series, in a later stage in the second Shepherds' Play of the same cycle, as well as in the Chester Shepherds' Play. In such plays as these we are to see the starting- point of chronicle history technique, so far as that technique had to do with the handhng of masses of material. What we have in the Secunda Pastorum is the first and simplest stage of the dramatic form employed by the chronicle history writers, and for that matter by the Elizabethan playwrights gener- ally. Their practice of uniting in one play two or more threads of interest and their pursuit of the chronological method were in other words merely the application to a larger and more varied mass of material of a dramatic form that was the inevitable outcome of the dramatic conditions of the time.^ 1 Thus Jacob's statement, in his edition of Painter's Palace of Pleasure, 1890, I, xxix, that the Elizabethan drama would have been subject to the unities but for the influence of the Italian novella, would seem to be without foundation. The influence of the novella seems to have made for one type of unity in the drama, instead of against it ; see pp. Ixxviii flE. INTRODUCTION xxvii Yet even within the rehgious drama we get a further development than the one just treated, to be seen, for instance, in the Digby play of Mary Magdalen.^ Incident, as I have previously said, suggests incident, and the result is that we have in the play a sort of chronicle history of Mary's life. It will repay a slightly longer analysis. In all it comprises fifty-two scenes, is divided into two parts, and deals with Mary's life from her early youth to her death. In it are depicted scenes in the Castle of Maudleyn, wherein her father, her sister Martha, and her brother Lazarus take part, her seduction by a gallant, her repentance and pardon by Christ, her pilgrimage to the land of Marcyle, with the conver- sion of the king and queen of that country, and finally her death. Interspersing these are scenes deaHng with the Emperor Tiberius, the raising of Lazarus, the pilgrimage of the king of Marcyle to Jerusalem to be baptized, and the miraculous preservation of his wife and child. In short, the play conforms in every respect save that of source to our definition of the chronicle history. Mary forms the unifying element, but the dramatist has not limited the scope of his piece to incidents dealing with her alone, and has not hesitated to include episodes with which she was only distantly concerned. Yet the play is in despite of that fact a biographical play, and is to be placed in the same category, aside from the extreme crudeness of the workmanship and the religious character of the subject-matter, 1 Edited by Furnivall, New Sh. Soc. Publ., 1892. xxviii EDWARD II with such dramas as Oldcastle, More, and Crom- well.'^ Two Cornish plays, the Origo Mundi^ and the Creation of the World, ^ illustrate an important aspect of this process of growth. The first, for instance, beginning with the creation, includes Cain and Abel, Death of Adam, Noah and the Flood, Abraham, Moses, David and Bathsheba, Building of the Temple, and the Bridge over Cedron ; thus it constitutes a survey of a good part of Old Testament history in preparation for two plays deaUng directly with the life of Christ. The Creation covers similarly the period from the Crea- tion to the Flood. Perhaps it is worth emphasiz- ing that the practice, reprobated by Sidney, for example, and Jonson, of dealing with great lapses of time in a single play had its roots in the religious drama, and that in the habits of mind, the predis- positions of one generation of play-goers are we to 1 A somewhat similar development is to be noted in the Digby Burial and Resurrection of Christ. Various views as to the exact classification of the Mary Magdalen and as to its relation to the miracle play cycle need not detain us (cf. Schelhng, Elizabethan Drama, 1908, I, 12 ; Chambers, Medieval Stage, 1903, II, 156 ; Eckhardt, Die Lustige Person, etc., 1902, 78). There seem to have existed a number of saints' plays (Chambers, II, 338, 342, 362, 374, 380, 436), but as none of these have been preserved, we cannot tell how far they resembled the Mary Magdalen structurally. The extant Conversion of St. Paul is not so striking as the Mary Magdalen, but exhibits similar tendencies. (There is also a Cornish St. Meriasek, which I know nothing about.) Other reUgious plays showing elaborated and interwoven threads of interest are the Shearmen and Taylors' Pageant and Weavers' Pageant (Coventry ; ed. H. Craig, Early English Text Society, 1902). 2 Chambers, II, 433. ' Chambers, II, 435 ; apparently founded on the Origo Mundi. INTRODUCTION xxix look for the chief explanation of the aesthetic standards of the next. Often well-marked tastes and preferences on the part of the Elizabethan audience, like certain facts of Elizabethan staging and scenery, can be understood only by finding out just what earlier spectators were accustomed to see.^ No matter what the extent to which realistic or traditional material may have forced its way into the miracle play in its various stages, the writer could not, even in the second Shepherds' Play, omit his biblical incidents entirely, nor as a rule of course did he wish to do so.* He had to do with a situation more or less fixed, and when he wished to introduce any other incidents than the traditional ones, he was in many instances forced to give them their own setting. In the morality, however, as every student says in turn, the author had com- paratively a free hand. He was not dealing with a fixed situation, and could consequently contract or expend his central action as he chose. At the same time, he had a fixed theme to expound, the relation of man to the world, the flesh, and the devil. Hence 1 It is the popular drama to which attention has been given in the pages above, but perhaps reference should be made to the fact that Creizenach caUs Foxe's Christus Triumphans " ein weltges- chichtliches Bild," and that the Pammachius had a similar character (Geschichte des neueyen Dramas, II, 87, 142 ; of. also 108-9). ' Very strange material did sometimes make its appearance. " The Dublin plays can hardly be called a cycle ; they represented, to be sure, the stories of Adam and Eve, of Joseph and Mary, of the passion, and of the deaths of the apostles ; but they included, with a somewhat ludicrous catholicity of aesthetic appeal, the story of Crispin and Crispinianus, the adventures of Bacchus and of Vulcan, and the Comedy of Ceres." (Gayley, Plays of our Forefathers, 1907, 141). XXX EDWARD II the interest was from the beginning centred in man, or the figure that stood for man ; through him the incidents found their connection. Accordingly, many of the moralities are distinctly ' biographical ' in character, and a perfectly definite contribution of the morahty to the development of English dramatic technique was the unity of personality. ^ The morahty form thus tended to a certain unity, and in so far as the element of conflict received stress seemed on the highway to the development of plot in the stricter sense, since perhaps we may roughly define plot for our present purposes as a series of episodes exhibiting the process by which there is attained a state either of quiescence or of stable equilibrium on the part of conflicting forces. Disintegrating influences were, however, still active, and their effects are observable. The exploitation of the comic interest introduced extraneous episodes.^ The intrusion of new themes, polemic, pedagogical, political,* into a drama of primarily ethical purpose had occasionally similar results. It has been suggested * that the limited number of actors in the typical professional troop of about 1550 was partly responsible for imperfect plotting. We should also 1 No doubt the Mary Magdalen observes the unity of person- ality. Yet we do not know, after all, that there were many plays of that type (see note, p. xxviii), and it is certainly better to regard this unity as the contribution of a large class of plays in which it was naturally developed. - Eckhardt, ibid., 71-2, 116. " Schelling, El. Drama, I, 57 ff. * Brandl, Quellen des Weltlichen Dramas, etc., 1898, Ixvii-lxviii ; cf. Creizenach, Geschichte des Neueren Dramas, III, 575. INTRODUCTION xxxi take into account the naive interest of the Ehza- bethans in accessary and illustrative detail, some- times realistic in character.^ To draw a sharp line between what would tend to heighten and con- centrate the dramatic interest and what would tend to dissipate it and so loosen dramatic structure is impossible, but the distinction should be noted as bearing on the episodic nature of Elizabethan plays. And, furthermore, we must recognize the dis- organizing influence of the miracle play cycle as a whole. Many of the plays in these great cycles were not longer than many of the scenes in later drama. To the spectator they served but as scenes in that larger play, that world-drama, what we might call perhaps fancifully the chronicle history of the universe, in course of evolution before him. Yet these separate scenes had no special connection with one another, save through their common dependence upon the central theme. Why, then, when the same spectator came to view any other performance, should he demand that it be character- ized by a stricter unity ? Into a minute appraisal of these various influences we cannot go. What stands out pretty clearly is that native tradition ran in favour of organizing the action on the basis of the survey of a period : of a series of years covering the religious history of the ^ Cf. the ' cry of hounds ' in Edwardes' Palamon and Arcyte, Schelling, II, 57 ; an important note on this performance is in Wallace, Evolution of the English Drama, 1912, 112, n. 4. Moreover, the dumb shows are important in this connection, see note below, p. Ivi. xxxii EDWARD II race (miracle cycle), covering the life of an indi vidua symbolizing the race (morality), covering a fairlj well marked off portion of history, mythical oi rehgious (Chester Creation; cf., later. Hey wood's Four Ages), covering the life of an historical person- age [Mary Magdalen, Tamhurlaine, Cromwell, Sh Thomas More) . These plays hardly represent differ- ent ideals of structure, and are hardly to be classifiec on such a basis. Stated in more definite, and hence probably more disputable terms, the conclusion just reached amounts to this : Upon the morality form, of which the ideal was a certain type of unity, but which contained, nevertheless, disruptive elements, there acted possibly the disintegrating influence of the miracle play, reinforced by the disintegrating influence of the miracle play cycle, ^ and there developed a form like that of Damon and Pythias, in which the interest attaching to a central person- ality served as a thread upon which to hang what might be called scene-pendants. This form was that employed by the chronicle history. 1 A similar disintegrating influence was experienced by the classical form when it came into contact with the popular drama. Schiicking, Studien Uber die stofflichen Beziehungen der englischen Komodie zuv Italischen, igoi, 38, notes the fact that the translator and adapter of La Spiritata added a number of scenes that do not assist the action. The mixture of styles in Locrine will at once occur to the reader, and Fischer, Kunstentwicklung der englischen Tragddie. 1893, 25, reminds us that in the translations of Seneca are sometimes added scenes that bring on the stage incidents only mentioned in the original. INTRODUCTION xxxiii III The study of the way in which the dramatic form thus evolved came to be appUed to a larger and more complex mass of material in the shape of Enghsh history is itself a study not of form but of the transformation of content. When, for example, did the chronicle history itself come definitely into existence, and in virtue of what forces did it acquire its predominant position in the drama of 1590- 1600 ? For the first appearance of history in the direct line of dramatic development we are to hold the didacticism of the morahties^ responsible. A moral lesson is best enforced through concrete examples, and the concrete examples that would most strongly appeal to the people of the time, as we know from their conception of tragedy, ^ were those having to do with the high in station— kings, princes, and nobles. In the very nature of things ' historical moralities ' would come into existence as one of the first stages in the de-morahzation of a didactic drama. No doubt we have no information absolutely determin- ing the ethical purpose of the earliest play mentioned as having an historical subject. King Robert of ' The expansive character of the miracle cycle did result in the introduction of a few historical figures not in the Bible, like Octavian and Tiberius, but they are not numerous (cf. Ward, History of English Dramatic Literature, 1899, I, 169), and I do not see that we need to consider them. * Cloetta, Beitrdge zur Litteraturgeschichte des Mittelalters, etc,, 1890, I, 28 fi. ; Creizenach, I, 9, 12, C xxxvi EDWARD II Sicily,^ but to assume that it was other than a mora play dealing with the well-known legend would b( gratuitously absurd. Of extant plays, Preston'i Cambyses, printed 1569, will serve to exemphfj historical moraUties of purely ethical purpose. It is made up of a number of incidents relating to Cam- byses, illustrating some the good, others the bad side of the king's nature, and finding their connectior solely through him. For the purposes of comic relief are thrust in matters with which he has nothing to do, as the episode of Huf, Ruf, Snuf, and Mere- trix. If we may consider religious controversy as a1 bottom ethical, it was hkewise an ethical purpose that inspired Bale to the writing of Kynge Johan. He had a definite moral and political end in view, The burning question was whether England should be under the domination of Rome. He conceived that he could not better ensure her continuance ir the present struggle for freedom than by showing what had been the evil results of a previous sub- mission. The controversial drama of the succeeding decades, the plays like Albion Knight and Respuhlica had behind them a similar desire, to further in om way or another the social and political developmeni of England. In this way English history and matter; relating to the existence of England as a nation, ii other words, the national existence of England, cam( 1 Chambers, II, 356 ; played 1529, but dating back to the reigi of Henry VII. There was apparently a Ludus de Kyng Robert Cesill played at Lincoln, 1452-3, ibid., 378. INTRODUCTION xxxv to play a part in the English drama. ^ Kynge Johan, however, differed from other extant polemical plays in that it utilized a particular historical situation and a particular historical figure. It is important, not on account of its merit or its influence, but because it illustrates a preliminary stage through which, under the conditions of the time, English history necessarily passed before it could become an independent and self-sufficient dramatic theme. Gorboduc, though a product of the learned drama from one point of view, yet through its neglect of the unities and its didactic purpose ^ allies itself with the contemporary popular drama in important respects, and may very properly be considered as illustrating a stage of the treatment of English history following upon that of Kynge Johan. The allegorical figures have disappeared, and the action admits of statement in the form of a narrative rather than in that of a thesis. But the raison d'etre of the piece is still pohtical. English history is not yet presented for its own sake or for the sake of its intrinsic dramatic interest. A distinct step, however, has been taken toward freeing that kind of subject- matter from entangling political and religious alliances. ' " And amongst the rest, in one play, they represented King PhUip, the late Queen of England, and Cardinal Pole, reasoning together about such things, as they imagined might have been said bythem in the matter of religion." {Calendar of State Papers, Venetian, 1559, May 4). ' The fullest discussion of the play's admonitory aim is in H. A. Watt, Gorboduc ; or, Ferrex and Porrex, University of Wisconsin Bulletin, 1910, 33 ff. xxxvi EDWARD II During the period following Gorboduc the course ( the drama lay towards the expulsion of ahen mon and political elements. Plays of a definitely coi troversial cast were stiU forbidden by the Goverr ment ; no dramatist was permitted to meddle wit politics, and the substitution of human for alle gorical figures, of real life for abstract symbolisn proceeded rapidly, assisted as it was by the cor comitant absorption of classical and Itahan subject and ideals. It was inevitable that English histor should share in the general progress of dramati motives, and should come within the next few year to be treated for its own sake. The course of this process it is not easy to trac with precision, because of the lack of definit evidence. The subject is not recognized in cor temporary criticism, and the plays of the time, eve their names, are no longer preserved in any numbei Yet there are one or two considerations that may b of use to us in arriving at more solid results. It is true that the element of social and politicE morality was not entirely expelled by 1579, ^^^ ^ find that Gosson, the determined enemy of plays an players, is willing to allow a certain praise to drama caUed Ptolome, " very lively descrybing how seditious estates, with their owne devises, fals friendes, with their owne swoordes, and rebelUou commons in their owne snares are overthrowne." Clearly this was a play somewhat, if not altogethei in the didactic style of Cambyses — a conclusion borr 1 School of Abuse, ed. Arber, p. 40. INTRODUCTION xxxvii out by the fact that Gosson is willing to have such plays presented under certain conditions. His own drama of Catilins Conspiracies was probably of the same character. Nevertheless, it is sufficiently clear that there were in existence at this time historical plays that approached more nearly to our own conception. They seem to be first mentioned in Lodge's Play of Plays ^ Prynne tells us that The Play of Plays defends histories on the ground that they instruct the people in history and are thus useful. Now The Play of Plays was produced in 1580, and in answer to Gosson's School of Abuse. The plays that are defended then can hardly be those that Gosson is wiUing to allow, namely, historical plays with a specifically moral aim. Rather Lodge must be trying to justify on didactic grounds historical plays of which the didactic character was not at first sight apparent. If, however, this inference be not conclusive as to the point, let us see what Gosson says in Plays Confuted : " If a true Historic be taken in hand, it is made like our shadows, longest at the rising and ' 1580. Non-extant, but cf. Gosson's Plays Confuted in Five Actions, Action 4, and Prynne, Histriomastix , 1632-3, pp. 719, 733, and particularly 940-1 . I do not see why Symmes, Les Debuts de la Critique Dramatique en Angleterre, etc., 1903, 54, should refuse to accept, at least provisionally, Prynne's attribution of the play to Lodge. Prynne's statement is explicit ; his marginal note, p. 940, is ; " See Thomas Lodge, his Play of Plays." Writing 1630, he could hardly have referred in that way to the mere performance of a play in 1580. The logical inference is that there was a printed copy, to which he referred his readers, and which attributed the play to Lodge. xxxviii EDWARD II falling of the Sunne, shortest of all at hie noone For the Poets drive it most commonly unto sud pointes, as may best showe the majestie of their pen in Tragicall speaches ; or set the hearers agogge with discourses of love ; or painte a fewe antickes to fitt their owne humors, with scoffes & tauntes or wring in a shewe, to furnish the Stage, when it i to bare ; when the matter of it selfe comes shorte o this, they foUowe the practise of the cobler, and se their teeth to the leather to pull it out.''^ Ii illustration, he points to the " history of Csesa and Pompey, and the Playe of the Fabii " as having been written in this fashion. Are not such historiei as these very different from those of the earlie: period of Elizabeth's reign, Cambyses, for instance ? Is it to be presumed that Enghsh history did no follow in this respect the course apparently takei by history in general ? Knowing that Englisl history formed an element in the earlier contro versial drama, believing that history in genera came to be treated in and for itself, without perhap any ulterior aim on the part of the playwright, ma] ' Plays Confuted, sig. D 4-5. Gosson's use of the term ' tru history ' is perfectly clear. But when Sidney says (Apologie, ec Arber, 64), " lastly, if they will represent an history," it is not clea what he means. The context preceding suggests that histor means historical truth or fact. The illustration is the story c Polidorus in Euripides, which Sidney probably, but not certainlj considered historical. " As perhaps significant in this connection should be noted th occasional appearance of historical themes in the development ( the masque, Brotanek, Englische Maskenspiele, 56-8, and perhaj also the substitution for the Coventry miracles in 1584 of Tl Destruction of Jerusalem (Chambers, II, 113, 361). INTRODUCTION XXXXl we not with justice conclude that so early as 1580 the chronicle history had appeared on the stage ? ^ Though this conclusion would seem to be logical, we must admit, as above suggested, that it is not to be dogmatically asserted. We cannot produce many titles to support it. Professor Schelhng, in the hst of plays on Enghsh subjects that he has supphed to his work on the chronicle history, mentions several as having been written before 1580. Of these, Kynge Johan and Gorhoduc have been touched upon. Others are at best somewhat doubtful as regards their place in the dramatic category under discussion. Thus one wonders whether Gosson's play of The Blacksmith's Daughter belongs in this list, for Gosson expressly tells us that it contained " the trechery of Turkes, the honourable bountye of a noble minde, * " And it is impossible to resist the conjecture that English history must have received crude presentation in the public theatres much earlier than we have any record of." (Thorndike, Tragedy, 1908, 74.) Collier, II, 455, dates the old Henry V " not long after 1580," and Schelling, Chronicle Play, 1902, 276, places it in 1580, though in Elizabethan Drama, 1, 257, he conjectures 1586-7. Baeske, Oldcastle : Falstaff, Palaestra L, 1905, 75, says : " Durch den Einfluss des ' Tamerlan ' und der komplizierten Historientechnik des Marlowe beschrankt sich die Abfassung weiter auf die Zeit von 1587-88." He gives no evidence of this supposititious Marlowe influence and would doubtless be puzzled to point out in what it consisted. Proof of it would be interesting. Kabel, Die Sage von Heinrich V, Palaestra LXIX, 1908, 65-6, is more precise and datef the play July-September, 1588. He sa:ys nothing of Marlowe, but thinks, with Baeske, that " die grosse Kraft und Frische " shown in the handling of the plot must have had something to do in some way with the Armada. (Ward, I, 223, had unfortunately re- marked of this play that " its general vigour and freshness are con- siderable," but had wisely refrained from committing himself to a particular date.) ^ xl EDWARD II and the shining of vertue in distresse." ^ Can we be certain that the play of Alucius had a subject taker from Enghsh history? The same thing is to be said of The Irish Knight, whether or not identical with Cutwell.^ So far as we are aware, the material treated in it might have been utterly unhistorical The Robin Hood plays, too, though they seem tc indicate the existence of a widespread popular drams that may have very remotely prepared the way foi the chronicle history, need not be specifically con sidered here.* There remain, then, two non-extant Enghsh plays ' School, p. 40. - Feuillerat, Revels, u.s., 461. ^ Relations of such plays to the ' regular ' drama are considero by Ordish, Folk-Lore, Vols. II, IV. Schelling, Chronicle Play, 6 S. discusses these and considers them as preparatory of the histories drama. It is doubtful whether they should be so considered. N question the people believed that Robin Hood and Saint George ha actually existed and that in the plays and the ballads dealing wit them was to be found a more or less trustworthy account of thei doings. But it seems clear that they were not so much intereste in Robin Hood, for example, as a definitely historical personage a they were in him as somehow the mouthpiece and expression of the ideals and emotions. Thus the ballads of Robin Hood may t thought of as quite different in tone and atmosphere from the coi sciously and purposefully historical ballads of which Aubrey tells 1 {see post), and it is among these that we should seek for the analogu( and preparatory antecedents of the chronicle play, so far as contei at least is concerned. The Hok Tuesday Play stands, of course, in a class by itself. As clear from Laneham's letter, its definitely historical interest ai character had by the middle of the sixteenth century, and perha; much earlier, come prominently into the foreground. Whatever i origin, it had come to be associated with a particular historical eve and to symbolize the struggle of the English nation with a forei] invader, and it was on the ground of its historical and natior significance that its presentation before the queen was urged. " T thing, said they, iz grounded on story, and for pastime woont t bee plaid in oour Citee yeerely." " As containing," says Schellii INTRODUCTION xli The Tragedy of the King of Scots (1567) and The Siege of Edinburgh (1573), and two extant Latin plays, Byrsa Basilica (1570) and Richardus Tertius (1579). Of the first two we know practically nothing definite. Probably The King of Scots contained allegorical elements.^ Of the Latin plays it is difficult to speak briefly. Byrsa Basilica seems not to have freed itself from the morality. ^ To Richardus Tertius Professor Churchill attributes a great influ- ence on later historical drama. This I have myself been unable to discern, ^ and from my point of view p. 16, " the representation of an historical event in action by means of dialogue, of a character altogether secular and animated by a purpose free from didactic intent. The Hock Tuesday Play must be regarded as the earliest dramatic production fulfilling, if rudely, the conditions of a national historical drama." Madden's conjecture as to the existence in the thirteenth century of a semi-historical Haveloc Play (Schelling, Elizabethan Drama, I, 50) may be passed over. ' See warrant, June ii, 1568, Feuillerat, Revels, u.s., 119, in which " the Pallace of prosperitie Scotlande and a gret Castell one thothere side " occur as apparently belonging to the furniture for the King of Scots mentioned a few lines previously. For specula- tion as to the subject-matter, see Feuillerat's note, 449. * Schelling, Chronicle Play, 21 ; ChurchUl, Shakespeare Jahrbuch, xxxiv, 281 ; in any case, there does not seem to be much that is historical in it. ' See also Schelling, Chronicle Play, 21 ; Elizabethan Drama, I, 255 ; Thorndike, Tragedy, 60, where it is very pertinently suggested that " its adherence to sources and its looseness of structure may have been reflections from the public stage." It might further be said that Watt, Gorboduc, u.s., 89, has quite as much ground for calling Gorboduc " the first of the Chronicle Plays " as has Churchill for applying a similar term to Richardus Tertius (Richard the Third up to Shakespeare, 1900, 270). Lack of space prevents adequate dis- cussion of Churchill's position, but I cannot forbear pointing out that the influence of the popular drama upon the humanistic or learned drama, both continental and insular, is a quite patent and unmistakable thing. (Creizenach's second volume, Buch I, bristles with evidences, and the note at the bottom of p. 60 of Thorndike is xlii EDWARD II Richardus Tertius is chiefly valuable as helping us to believe that by 1580 EngUsh history had become an independent and self-sufficient dramatic theme. ^ IV One may or may not believe that chronicle histories were being written by 1580 ; one cannot ignore the fact that by the early nineties they were more numerous and more popular than plays of any other kind. There was by that time in existence a national historical drama, national, that is, not alone by virtue of its subject-matter, but because it embodied in plays of no doubt unequal merit and often of trivial character, the profoundest sentiments by which the English people were collectively inspired — ^pride in a great past, exultation in a great present, superb confidence in a great future. Such a drama, one feels, could pass through a develop- ment so luxuriant only when certain conditions had been fulfilled — when the people, nationalized, homo- geneous, feeling and acting pretty much as one, had become capable of taking a deep and active interest in its own past ; when it had become quite in point. Nor would anyone for a moment think of asserting that the treatment of plot in Gorboduc was anything but a reflection of the dramatic conditions of the time. That was just what Sidney disliked in it). That the author of The True Tragedy of Richard III did, however, borrow in some degree from Richardus Tertius is clearly shown by Churchill and should not be lost sight of. * Sarrazin, William Shakespeares Lehrjahre, 1897, I9. says that it is improbable that there should have been a foundation-piece for pt. I of Henry VI " well es uberhaupt erst um 1588 ublich wurde Historien zu schreiben." INTRODUCTION xliii awakened to a sense of its own greatness ; when there had come into being a dramatic form by which historical material could be presented in such a way as to reveal just those aspects of it of which the public felt most deeply the inspiration. The problem of ascertaining how these conditions were met in the years between 1580 and 1600 becomes much simpler than it would otherwise be when we perceive that after all we are not so much concerned with England as a whole as we are with London, not so much with the English people as with the London populace, except, of course, in so far as the mood of the London populace was the national mood, intensified, heightened, articulate.^ All EngUshmen, for ex- ample, hated foreigners, but it was London that had its evil May-day. It becomes, too, a little simpler yet when we realize that this homogeneity did not arise out of identity of economic conditions, of political belief, or of religious creed, but was the product of the common participation, individually ' In London, remarks Creizenach, IV, 193-4, " j^de Gasse, jede Kirche, jedes offentliche Gebaude wurde durch grosse Erinnerungen verklart. Hier erstreckte sich noch der Strassenzug, durch den einst der Rebellenhaufen, von Jack Cade gefiihrt, sich herbeiwalzte, dort erhob sich das alte Gebaude mit dem Jerusalem-Zimmer, worin Heinrich IV. verschied, dort Baynard's Castle, wo die Londoner Burger Richard dem Dritten die Krone anboten. . . . Aber mehr als in alien den Fallen, die hier sonst noch erwahnt werden konnten, gilt die Wahrheit des Gesagten fiir den Ort, an dem uns noch heute wie vielleicht an keinem andem dieser Welt der Schauer der Vergangenheit iiberkommt : in dem Halbdunkel des Gewolbes der Westminster-Kathedrale, wo die Helden und Herrscher der Vorzeit, die in ihrer Liebe und in ihrem Hass, in ihren Grosstaten und ihren Verbrechen von den Dichtern neubelebt waren, auf den machtigen steineruen Sarkophagen ausgestreckt liegen." xliv EDWARD II various as it might be, in those large and generous emotions, the pride, the exultation, the superb confidence. These, for a brief, glorious moment, were shared by Cathohc and Puritan, courtier and citizen, master and man. And so we can speak of a national unanimity of thought and action, and of a national historical drama. It is no doubt the duty of the historian to describe in detail how such a unanimity was eventually achieved, but the process as a whole cannot be entirely ignored in a serious study of the chronicle play, and there are phases of it upon which we may even dwell for a moment, owing to the peculiar interest they possess. Certainly Henry VIII did not leave behind him a united people, and during the two following reigns the forces of dissension became ever stronger and more threatening. Re- ligious persecution, political discord, economic up- heaval, an exhausted exchequer, a debased currency, military defeat, these were some of the factors that brought England into a state of sullen despondency, lightened only by the hope of Ehzabeth's succession. Under such circumstances controversial plays like Kynge Johan and Respuhlica may be composed, but quite obviously a great change in the state of the nation must come about before the people will take that exultant interest in their own past which is the necessary condition of a flourishing patriotic drama. During the first half of Elizabeth's reign the change took place. The political exigencies that forced Philip of Spain, ambitious to realize the vast INTRODUCTION xlv projects of his father, to maintain peace with England at almost any price, lest she be thrown into the arms of France, his hereditary rival, together with the obstinacy of the Pope in demanding restitution of confiscated Church property to the uttermost farthing, assisted Elizabeth's own wise and moderate policy in substantially harmonizing reUgious opinion throughout England. For on the one hand Philip made no opposition to such changes in the ritual and practice of the Church as Elizabeth thought needful ; on the other, the Pope brought about, through ill-judged buUs of deposition and continual incitements to revolt, a practical identifi- cation of patriotism and the Protestant religion, to which economic rivalry with Spain contributed its due share. Through the operation of these social forces, England, which from the point of view of its pohtical sympathies was already Protestant, became actually such, and when the Armada appeared off the coast, even the remaining Catholics rose in a body to defend their country. ^ This movement toward unity was forwarded by other influences, notably that exerted by the great development of popular historical writing during the sixteenth century. Of course English histories had been earlier written, and many of them. The thread of historical composition, from the time of the Saxon Chronicle, though divided into a thousand minute filaments, had been perfectly continuous. 1 Compare Heywood's // You Know not me, etc., Works, 1874, I. 338. xlvi EDWARD II The line of descent was at once direct and collateral. Chronicler borrowed from annalist, annalist con- tinued chronicler, and no Renaissance atmosphere was needed for the domestication of the Muse of History in Great Britain. Her habitation, however, had been a religious cell, her customary garb con- ventual. She had spoken usually a foreign tongue, and her walks abroad had been confined to the paths that united abbey with abbey, monastery with monastery. Hardly had she deigned to tarry at the squire's hall or the yeoman's cottage. The inventory of Sir John Paston's library contains no work of history, though law books and romances are numerous.^ In the later fifteenth century, then, the study of history was hardly an active social force, hardly more an active intellectual one. In the sixteenth century the situation changes, and it becomes necessary for us to take account of the unifying influence of the chronicles themselves during the period between the publication of Caxton's Chronicle of Brute and the second edition of Holinshed. The great outburst of chronicle plays in the last part of the century is in very great measure to be ex- plained by the interest which the people at large took in the history of England, the feelings with which that interest inspired them, and the harmony of thought and emotion that resulted from it. The Chronicle of Brute was first published in 1480. The second edition of Hohnshed appeared in 1586. ^ Morley's English Writers, VI, 263 f. INTRODUCTION xlvii Between these two dates, there were printed more than forty works, principally in English, bearing directly upon English history. Many of these, like Fabyan, Grafton, Stowe's Summary, underwent several editions. It is of course a question how far such compilations as Capgrave's Nova Legenda Anglics were looked upon as historical. I have included the Nova Legenda in the number given above, but have omitted Malory and the romances generally. ^ Yet it cannot be doubted that even these helped to make sixteenth-century Englishmen con- scious of the great body of history and legend that was their inheritance, whether or not history and legend were properly differentiated by them.^ It is the chronicles themselves that are at this moment of special interest. One chronicler, Polydore Vergil, had a position that was at least 'semi-official, for he had been expressly invited by Henry VII to write the history of England, and all the national and local records were to be thrown open to him. He wrote, to be sure, in Latin, but his work had a significance quite independent of its language. A great stage in the historical writing of a nation has ' I have omitted the romances because educated Englishmen did not consider them historical, though they must have passed current among a good many readers, and so have to be taken into account in a measure. See Ascham, Toxophilus, ed. Arber, p. ig. School- master, p. 80. Meres' enumeration and reprobation of romances, Palladis Tamia, Arber's Garner, II, 106, may be referred to. The romances were frequently dramatized. ' Cf. Schofield, English Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer, 1906, 158. And Whitlock, Zootomia, 1654, 215, speaks scornfully of those men "of easie soules, with whom Romants are Chronicle." xlviii EDWARD II been completed when its government commands that its annals be compiled and given to the public. May it not be said to mark the recognition of history as a social and intellectual agency capable of producing definite results, and worthy of being utilized by a government in the attempt to rally the national forces and cultivate a national attitude ? ^ Common to the chronicles, at least to those written in English and hence appeahng to a wide circle of readers, were the point of view and the spirit of their composition — a point of view of intense patriotism, a spirit of heroical celebration. Both find perhaps their completest expression in the accounts of the life and deeds of Henry V, who was not merely an English king, but held the higher rank of a national hero. It was his reign that was looked back to as that under which England had been at her best and greatest. The superb characterization of Henry in Hall's chronicle and the soul-animating strains of Shakespeare's play find alike their direct inspiration in the belief that in Henry V was the national ideal at once realized and for ever fixed. Dissociated then from political storm and religious stress, there was at work upon the minds of English- men an influence that made for peace and unity. The past had become a ground upon which all Englishmen might take their stand, not as partisans, but as patriots, as common inheritors of a national spirit. The history of England had been glorified in ^ Henry's immediate object was of course to cultivate Lan- castrian sympathies. INTRODUCTION xlix prose, and it was inevitable that the drama should seize with enthusiasm its ample opportunity. Effective in the same way was the sentiment of personal devotion to Elizabeth. John Stubbes did not in many things represent the point of view of the people at large ; but at one moment in his otherwise harsh and narrow life he rose above himself and gave memorable utterance to a national emotion. Posterity has not forgotten that the instant his right hand was struck off by the public executioner, with his left he swung his cap and shouted, " God save the Queen." Indeed, beneath the absurd flatteries of which Elizabeth was the object we may read clear a deep and genuine feeling that formed not the least important element in the life of the people. Nor can the essential justness of the popular instinct be impugned. It was her policy that brought order out of disorder, her hand that disthroned chaos and old night. She rendered possible the exultant descrip- tion of England that Shakespeare puts into the mouth of John of Gaunt. With her life were identified the Protestant religion and the national independence, and when the execution of Mary put practically an end to the conspiracies against Elizabeth's person, all England breathed a sigh of relief, for all England realized that her own struggle for existence would be the easier thenceforward. The unifying influence exercised by the wise rule of Elizabeth and by this sentiment of personal devotion to her extended to a class that could not be directly reached by historical study or by the 1 EDWARD II chronicles, namely, to those that could not read. They were not less patriotic than their superiors, but their knowledge of history was of necessity derived mainly from tradition, from what of historic truth had been able to survive in ballad and legend. Chappell tells us that " from very early times down to the end of the seventeenth century, the common people knew history chiefly from ballads. Aubrey mentions that his nurse could repeat the history of England, from, the conquest down to the time of Charles I, in ballads. "^ These productions are not all to be regarded as 'echt volksmassig.' By the term ' ballad ' is in this instance comprised, in addition to true folk-poetry, all that popular verse that is engendered in cities and may with safety be denied a ' communal ' origin, broadsides, satirical songs, and all such metrical flotsam and jetsam as has to do with political or historical events. Many of these productions were founded on the chronicles, and indeed in verse of a more strictly popular character we meet occasionally with epic formulae, by the use of which the writer shifted the responsi- bility from his own shoulders to those of another.^ The spirit of these metrical effusions was in an exaggerated degree the spirit of the chronicles. They at once stimulated the people's curiosity, 1 Percy Soc. edition of Crown Garland, Publications, VI, 1842' pp. vii, viii. « Cf. Battle of Otterbourne, 35 (2), Child, No. 161. Rose of England, 17 (2), 22 (4), Child, No. 166. Flodden Field (Appendix), 121 (4), Child, No. 168. Note also the title of the B.M. copy of No. 154. and compare the introductions to Nos, 163 aftd 164. INTRODUCTION li appealed to their patriotism and insular pride, and reinforced the appeal by the celebration of particular deeds and exploits. In short, such was the interest in English history aroused as the result of the various social and political agencies whose operation I have attempted in slight measure to indicate, that the London audiences drew eagerly upon whatever sources of information were open to them. Much of the popu- larity enjoyed by the chronicle history was due to the fact that it answered this demand. We are accustomed to speak of the educational influence exercised by this dramatic species, but after all we hardly realize its extent ; we hardly realize the fondness of the Elizabethan for details that to us are comparatively unimportant, or at any rate are foreign to the purpose the dramatist should entertain. If we examine, for instance, the old True Tragedy of Richard III, we shall find that several scenes consist merely of brief summaries of large parts of the action which the dramatist was unable to present on the stage, but which he apparently felt should not be omitted. Richard's page is often used for this pur- pose, but other characters also serve. We can find many passages illustrative of this didactic function of the chronicle play in dramas more advanced than this one.^ » Edward III. (ed. Moore Smith, 1897), I, i, 11. 1-40 : K. Ed. Robert of Artois, banish'd though thou be From France, thy native country, yet with us Thou shalt retain as great a signiory ; For we create thee Earl of Richmond here. Hi EDWARD II Many of these passages are essentially undramatic in character and do little more than supply historical information. In some cases this information is neces- sary to an understanding of the situation, but in others it is not. The people liked that sort of thing, and were desirous of hearing how many were killed in the battle and who were the leaders on either side, what events preceded and what succeeded a certain campaign, and so on. The notion of the selection of material for a dramatic as clearly distinct from a narrative purpose, the difference between a plot and And now go forward with our pedigree ; Who next succeeded Phihp Le Beau ? Art. Three sons of his ; which all, successively. Did sit upon their father's regal throne, Yet died and left no issue of their loins. K. Ed. But was my mother sister unto those ? Art. She was, my lord ; and only Isabel Was all the daughters that this Philip had : Whom afterward your father took to wife ; And, from the fragrant garden of her womb. Your gracious self, the flower of Europe's hope. Derived is inheritor to France. But note the rancour of rebellious minds. When thus the lineage of Le Beau was out. The French obscur'd your mother's privilege ; And, though she were the next of blood, proclaim'd John, of the house of Valois, now their king : The reason was, they say, the realm of France, Replete with princes of great parentage. Ought not admit a governor to rule Except he be descended of the male ; And that's the special ground of their contempt Wherewith they study to exclude your grace, etc. A long list of similar passages might be given. As regards Shakespeare, see Henry V, I, ii, 11. 32-95 ; IV, viii, 80-110. Other passages occur in the Henry VI plays. A good illustration is one found in the anonymous Richard II (see p. cxi, note 3), p. 61 ; and there are some very curious instances in the second part of Hey wood's If you know not me, you know Nobody. INTRODUCTION liii a mere series of episodes, had not as yet become apparent. Like children, they asked, What did he do ? What did he say ? What did the other man do then ? If we bear in mind that the Ehzabethans were now for the first time Hstening to such stories scenically presented, and that they were interested in them as are children in the earliest tales that reach their ears, we shall have the key to much in the drama of the period that might otherwise fail of proper interpretation.^ That the chronicle play had this specifically didactic function, particularly with reference to the illiterate class, was recognized by contemporary writers. Nashe has been quoted in another part of this study. ^ Heywood, in a passage worth giving at length, makes the educational value of the historical play an argument in his defence of the stage, while, as will be later seen, the Puritans attacked the stage partly because it abused the confidence of its auditors. Heywood says : " Playes have made the ignorant more apprehensive, taught the unlearned the know- ledge of many famous histories, instructed such as cannot reade in the discovery of all our English chronicles ; and what man have you now of that weake capacity that cannot discourse of any notable thing recorded even from William the Conquerour, nay, from the landing of Brute, untill this day ? • It is interesting to compare with the passages cited in the pre- vious note, which have no dramatic colouring, other passages which likewise supply information, but are distinctly dramatic. For instance, 3 Henry VI, I, i, 104 S., Richard II, I, iv, 42 it. ' See p. XV, liv EDWARD II beeing possest of their true use, for or because playes are writ with this ayme, and carryed with this methode, to teach their subjects obedience to their king, to shew the people the untimely ends of such as have moved tumults, commotions, and insurrections, to present them with the flourishing estate of such as live in obedience, exhorting them to allegeance, dehorting them from all trayterous and fellonious stratagems."^ Two other ' testimonies ' may be quoted. One is from the Iter Boreale : ^ Mine host was full of ale and history ; ^ ■!» ^ •(• T* Why, he could tell The inch where Richmond stood, where Richard fell : Besides what of his knowledge he could say. He had authenticke notice from the Play ; Which I might guesse, by's mustring up the ghosts. And policyes, not incident to hosts ; But cheifly by that one perspicuous thing. Where he mistook a player for a king. For when he would have sayd. King Richard dyed, And call'd — A horse ! a horse ! he, Burbidge cry'de. The other is from Act II, Scene i, of The Devil is an Ass : Meer. That you say right in. Spenser, I think the younger. Had his last honour thence. But he was but earl. Fiiz. I know not that, sir. But Thomas of Woodstock, I'm sure was duke, and he was made away At Calice, as Duke Humphrey was at Bury : And Richard the Third, you know what end he came to. Meer. By my faith, you are cunning in the chronicle, sir. Fitz. No, I confess I have it from the playbooks, And think they are more authentic. Eng. That is sure, sir. ^ Apology, p. 52. ' Poems of Bishop Corbet, ed. Gilchrist, 1807, 193. INTRODUCTION Iv In other words, the dramatist catered to the desire of the people for historical information, and in return the uneducated accepted him as an historical authority. ^ The dramatic form earlier developed permitted the presentation of historical material in a way to gratify this keen and lively interest. This form possessed as the result of its structure the characteristics of indefinite expansibility and epic quality. For these reasons it was especially well-suited to answer the demands of an Elizabethan audience, since the interest of such an audience was not fundamentally critical, but simply an interest of curiosity. It cared not so much to know what was the logic of events as it did to see the events themselves staged, and the question that it asked was not why, but rather what ? No drama of the classical or pseudo-classical type could have answered this question satisfactorily. 1 ' To be in a play ' had apparently something of the authority for that generation that ' to be in print ' has for the uneducated now. Cf. Chambers, Medieval Stage, II, 358 : " The C. Mery Tales (1526) has a story of a preacher, who wound up a sermon on the Creed with ' Yf you beleve not me then for a more suerte & suffycyent auctoryte go your way to Coventre and there ye shall se them all playd in Corpus Christi playe,' " And see Gayley, Plays of our Forefathers, 112-13 : " One cannot read the Canterbury Tales without suspecting that the familiarity displayed by the simpler characters with scrip- tural event and legend is supposed to be derived from plays rather than directly from the services of the church." With what Heywood says it is interesting to compare Gosson's remarks on the value of the play of Ptolome, School, p. 40. There was once a tradition that Shakespeare composed his chronicle plays for the purpose of instructing the people in history. See Halliwell, The First Sketches of the Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI, Old Shakespeare Society Publ., 1843, xxxv. Ivi EDWARD II Comparatively speaking, the plot of such a play is simple, the incidents presented are few and not perhaps as a rule sensational or even exciting. Much is done off the stage, away from the eyes of the onlookers, and thus the spectacular value of the play is lessened. ^ The artificially restricted field renders impossible the survey of a period, and the form is one well adapted to the portrayal of a character, but not so well to the telling of a story. r^Xhe Ehzabethan, however, was not primarily inter- ested in the portrayal of character, except possibly in satiric comedy. Interesting incident was what he mainly wanted, and no dramatic form unsuited to the development of a series of episodes would have found favour in his eyes. The crowded Ehzabethan plot had its roots in the tastes and preferences of the Elizabethan audience. I In other words, a moi^e^ighly developed dramatic form would have been too restricted in scope for this 1 Here might be emphasized a point merely suggested above, namely, the distinctly theatrical interest of the chronicle history. The spectacular element is strongly brought out in it, armies, em- bassies, coronations, processions, battles (cf. the prologue to Every Man in His Humour) ; the figures in them are distinctly theatrical figures, kings, queens, and so on. See Gosson (above, p. xxxviii), who says that the poets in histories are fond of penning declamatory speeches and of bringing in a " show to furnish the stage when it is too bare." The historical play in general is full of tableaux. Tambur- laine's chariot drawn by kings, the army of Amazons in Alphonsus (having perhaps the interest of a modern ballet), the brazen head and descent of Venus (cf. again the prologue above mentioned) in the same play, the riots in Sir Thomas More, the dumbshows in Gorboduc, are cases in point. A close union of the chronicle play and the masque is to be seen in Henry VIII. That this characteristic of the chronicle history contributed in no small measure to its popu- larity is a fact that might well have been urged. See n. 4, p. Ixxxviii. INTRODUCTION Ivii early period. What the spectator wanted was something at once more formless and more inclusive. He was for the first time listening to stories drama- tically told. He desired not so much a drama in our modern sense of the word, as an epic staged and acted out before him, and in answer to this demand the chronicle history came into existence. It was informed with the epic spirit, which regards Dido merely as a milestone in the course of ^Eneas's existence. The Trojan hero is not affected as to character or subsequent adventures by his encounter with the Queen of Carthage. His deeds on the Lavinian shore are what they would have been had he never seen her, and the ^neas that gives Turnus the fatal blow is in nothing changed from the iEneas that bore Anchises safely through the flaming city. Freytag's statement, " Schilderung fesselnder Begebenheiten ist Aufgabe des Epos,"'- is no less true of the chronicle history, the purpose of which is objective rather than subjective, the representation rather of what takes place in a man's environment than of his mental or spiritual growth, or from another point of view, the narration of a series of events instead of the development of a plot. Thence sprang its epic spirit, and in that lay in no small measure the secret of its popularity. The chronicle history, then, must be marked off from those plays that g,re dramatic in a higher and more sophisticated sense. "Dramatisch . . . [sind] das Werden einer That und ihre Folgen auf das ' Technik des Dramas (1898), p. 18. Iviii EDWARD II Gemiith."^ This reaction of events upon character is not emphasized in this branch of the EHzabethan drama, is indeed, on comparison with other species of that drama, conspicuously absent. In comedy, for instance, your prodigal repents and is received back into the good graces of his family or mistress after he has run his course. The reformation is often, nay usually, accomplished violently and in an unnatural manner, and we have no great faith in its lastingness. Yet it does represent on the part of the dramatist a certain realization of the fact that a man cannot go through a series of important events and come out unaltered in character. ^ In the chronicle histories generally this relation of character to environment received little attention. Even Shakespeare in his earlier plays does not bring it out, and we can hardly find character-progression in Richard III or King John. Either of these monarchs would have lived his life over, had it been possible, in much the same way. He would have corrected certain mistakes in policy, doubtless, but he would have had the same ends iiiview, and have been actuated by the same motives. |ln the chronicle history it is the event that is supreme, the fact.^ 1 Technik des Dramas (1898), p. 18. ^ We do not object to the conversions of these prodigals that they are sudden (cf. James, Varieties of Religious Experience, 1902, PP- 175-9). but that they are not adequately represented. The failure was not in the conception, but in the lack of vividness in dramatizing it, in the absence of sufficient cause as actually accom- plished. Lisideius in Dryden's Essay of Dramatic Poesy emphasizes the superiority of the French plays in regard to this point. = For relations of the national play to contemporary narrative poetry dealing with' the same subject-matter, see Fleay, Biog. INTRODUCTION lix V None will expect to find in so brief a study as this a discussion of every play that might conceivably be called a chronicle history. Those plays which contain a small amount of historical material employed chiefly to give a local habitation and a name to figures that belong properly in other dramatic fields, like Greene's Fnar Bacon, may well be neglected by us, as may also those that use such material merely as padding, like Dekker's Satiro- mastix, or in which it serves as a vehicle for satire upon features of Elizabethan life.^ We shall be principally interested in plays wherein the drama- tization of history as such was the main aim of the author and the main concern of the audience, though we must at the same time avoid distinctions of too rigid and arbitrary a kind.^ Chron., I, 141-2, and Elton, Michal Drayton, 1905 (revision of Spenser Society Publications, n.s. No. 4), pp. 39 ff. ; Schelling, Chronicle Play, 39. ' A Merry Knack to Know a Knave, 1592. Much of the text con- nects it with the pamphleteering war against cozeners waged by Greene and his associates. It contains a semi-allegorical figure named Honesty, whose business is to discover and bring to justice cheaters of all descriptions (anticipating Middleton's Phoenix). This part of the play, which is an expansion of certain hints afforded by the chronicles, and which contains a plagiarism from Faustus (Hazlitt's Dodsley, VI, 520), is loosely interwoven with a plot ap- parently taken from Holinshed (ed. 1808, I, 644 f.), and Kemp's Merriments of the Men of Gotham is avowedly utilized. Euphuism is satirized, pp. 523, 556. Such a hodge-podge illustrates the base uses to which chronicle material came and the readiness with which the clironicle history passed over into other types of drama, but is hardly otherwise of interest. " The best general account of the miscellaneous subject-matter of those plays that concerned themselves with English life of the past, and hence stand in more or less close relation to our subject, is in Creizenach, Geschichte des Neueren Dramas, IV, 193-215. Ix EDWARD II For this last reason it does not seem easy to accept the two classes suggested by Professor Schelling.^ " The one includes those plays which deal with history and the biographies of actual historical persons ; the other those in which the subjects are legendary or at least such as involve a more or less conscious departure from historical fact. Marlowe's Edward II and Shakespeare's Henry V may be taken as illustrations of the tragic and non-tragic types of the first class. Shakespeare's King Lear and Greene's Scottish History of James IV as typical examples similarly contrasted of the second." Yet any dramatization of historical material necessitates conscious departure from historical fact in some degree, for without it no such material can be staged. Moreover, the distinction drawn between legendary and historical material is obliterated by Professor Schelling himself later ^ in saying : "To dramatists as to chroniclers the legends concerning Brute, Cymbeline or King Arthur were not distinguishable in their credibility from the received records of the doings of Harry Monmouth, Richard Crookback or bluff King Henry. They accepted whatever they found and used it as they found it." Both matters are worth considering somewhat more in detail. The great body of Enghsh history as narrated, for instance, in Hohnshed divides itself from the modern point of view into two distinct portions. First, there is the mass of fiction, possibly containing a certain amount of Welsh tradition, that had its rise in the • Chronicle Play, p. 30. « Ibid., p. 50. INTRODUCTION Ixi fertile mind of Geoffrey of Monmouth. This covered the period between the Trojan War and the Roman conquest of Britain, and dealt also with Welsh affairs after that date. Second, there is English history proper, beginning roughly with the Roman conquest. Geoffrey had met with one or two severe critics in his own day, but his narrative held the field against them and was generally accepted and believed in for centuries. Gradually, however, scepticism became more active, and by 1550 a lively dispute was on foot among antiquaries and historians. Stow defends Geoffrey in the preface to his chronicle, Holinshed and Grafton followed him without ques- tion. Leland and Drayton believed in him, as did the learned Doctor White of Basingstoke.^ In 1593 Richard Harvey published Philadelphus ; or, A Defence of Brutus, and the Brutans History. On the other hand, Selden^ is sceptical, and Samuel Daniel refuses in his history to touch the pre-Roman period. Jonson accepts Geoffrey for poetical purposes.^ Camden* surveys the controversy, allows everyone to believe as he likes, but himself gives up Geoffrey with great reluctance. Edmund Bolton^ shows clearly that he would like much to believe in 1 Polyolhion, I, 312 ff., and Selden's note on the passage. * Ihid, and see England's Epinomis, chap, i . ' Note to Part of the King's Entertainment. * Britannia, translation of 1695, cols. vi. fi. ' Hypercritica (1618 ?), Spingarn's Seventeenth Century Critical Essays, I. See Addresse the First, especially sect. vi. In addition,see B.a.kevfUi' s Apologie, 1635, 3rd ed., 9 ; Waller, Vindication, pr. 1793, 277 ff., who believes there is much truth in Geoffrey. These refer- ences illustrate, but by no means exhaust, the history of the contro- versy. Ixii EDWARD II Geoffrey, does believe as much as he possibly can, and after discussing the relative numbers of the two parties, says : " So that if the cause were to be try'd or carry'd by Voices, the affirmative would have the fuller Cry." If such was the state of the case among men of more or less learning, it is clearly hazardous to make statements of too definite a character about drama- tists as a group. Of the spectators one may safely assert that most of them, especially the less well educated, unhesitatingly accepted plays based on legendary material as historical in character. On the other hand, we may say with equal safety, judging by comparative numbers, that plays based on the period after the Norman Conquest were much more popular and aroused a far keener interest.^ With relation to the dramatists, the problem is much more perplexing. We should not draw too rigid an inference from the fact that legendary plays contain a far larger proportionate amount of unhistorical matter than do others, for the chronicles dealing with that portion of English history were all based ultimately on Geoffrey, and he does not give as a rule more than a brief outline of the various reigns. In dramatizing a story taken from him, the playwright had himself to furnish a far larger amount of supplementary detail drawn from his own imagina- tion or from other sources, than in the case of a plot deaUng with, for example, Edward III, for which an abundance of incident and episode was ready to ' Cf. below, p. cxxi. INTRODUCTION Ixiii hand. If dramatists usually followed Geoffrey as faithfully, considering the material he supplied, as they did the chronicles of later times, that might easily be due to the fact that Geoffrey usually provided a good plot which there was small reason to change. Geoffrey was a born story-teller. At the same time, Shakespeare had no hesitation in making Lear end tragically instead of happily, as in the older version. He would never have dreamed of tampering in such a way with the fate of Richard III or of John. There were always floating rumours that Edward II and Richard II had escaped from prison and lived quietly in foreign lands, but no dramatist, so far as I know, ever attempted to utilize them. When Ford in his Perkin Warbeck made use of similar rumours about the sons of Edward IV, he could do so on the ground that these rumours had in the first place the very best of chronicle standing, and that in the second the career of Perkin Warbeck was an important historical fact which there was no gainsaying, whatever one's belief as to the validity of his claims. Without making a distinction between legendary and authentic material, we may admit that the earlier portion of English history was in certain respects more freely handled. The plays that were brushed aside in so cavalier a fashion a page or two back as being not concerned primarily with the presentation of serious history, were somewhat more likely to employ the remoter periods as background or as padding. Satironiastix deals with the reign of Ixvi EDWARD II and ghosts ; it liked almost everything except being bored. And it had not the slightest objection to the exhibition of all of these attractive features in the same play, if only the author were suffi- ciently ingenious and versatile to associate them all. It may be said, then, that the historical dramatist was allowed much freedom, and that he often took a greater freedom than many of his hearers realized. We may consider the matter from several points of view, without, however, pretending that these are mutually exclusive or that they exhaust the subject. It has already been observed that the mere staging of the material involved some alteration of it. For, in the first place, if only a brief outUne was given, as by Geoffrey, it would have to be fiUed out with supplementary details and episodes.^ In the second, if the chronicle suppUed an abundance of incident, the playwright would have to select, and according to his principle of selection, if he had any such, as may frequently be doubted, his play would have a certain character. One writer might empha- size the military side of a reign, another that of civil or religious dissension. Yet another, if he took plenty of space and had some skill in condensing and interweaving, like Heywood, might make a more or less representative selection covering 1 Compare what Higgins says in the preface to 1574 edition of The Mirror for Magistrates : " 1 was often fayne to use mine owne simple invention, yet not swarving from the matter : because the chronicles (although they went out under divers men's names) in some suche places as I moste needed theyr ayde, wrate one thing, and that so brieflye, that a whole prince's raigne, life, and death, was comprysed in three lines." (Haslewood, I, 8.) INTRODUCTION Ixvii various aspects of a period. In general, whatever the material selected, conversations would have to be invented, motives imputed, minor figures intro- duced, characters developed, and the like. We need not dweU upon the point. Every Elizabethan dramatist was at liberty to insert comic episodes, either in the form of detached scenes or in that of a genuine subplot. The chronicle dramatist usually did so, though not invariably. Sometimes the chronicle would afford a piece of material that could easily be worked up in a comic vein, as in the case of popular revolts like that of Cade or of the hints as to the riotous youth of Henry V; but usually the comic parts came in on the writer's own responsibility, being either devised by himself or taken from tradition or some other source. If tradition was utilized, as in the Tanner of Tam- worth scenes in Edward IV, the author might feel that he was using historical material, if only of a kind, but it is difficult to believe that anyone was imposed on by the humorous parts of Locrine. In any case, a certain licence of this kind was undoubtedly accorded the poet, and, except when he went altogether too far, we should not conclude that in making use of it he was without his rights as an historical dramatist. Frequently non-historical matter was added with a design to reinforce the appeal of the material I supplied by the chronicle, and in many cases it was ' the added portions in which the author and probably the audience were mainly interested. The fondness Ixviii EDWARD II of the Elizabethans for plots containing disguisings is deferred to in Look About You, in which the reign of Henry 11 is made to furnish more or less plausible excuses for a baker's dozen of disguises assumed by five different characters at various times. In Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay and John a Kent and John a Cumber wizardry and magic are given an historical setting. The Honorable Lije oj the Humor- ous Earl oJ Gloster, with his Conquest oJ Portugal, is not extant, but the title suggests, as the play was written 1600-1, that the current fad of ' humours ' was pressed into service. In such plays, as well as in others, the chronicle drama showed itself in close alliance with pure comedy, and history went for little save to provide the writer with a point of departure or to lend to his figures and incidents a certain factitious interest. The same statement is to be made of plays in which, by means of a few bits of historical fact, material belonging to the no-man's land of romance is localized in England. Once upon a time there was a James IV of Scotland ; he did marry the King of England's daughter ; he was inconstant ; and in his reign there was a war between Scotland and England ; but Greene's James IV, A Scottish History, contains practically nothing else that is historical in any ..sense of the word.^ Heywood's Royal King and Loyal Subject does not go so far as to tell us what king of England it was that put his marshal to so much dis- 1 The source, as has long been known, was an Itahan novella. INTRODUCTION Ixix tress. ^ Fair Em is not merely a worthless play, but it becomes highly ridiculous when we compare its love- lorn hero voyaging to Denmark in disguise with the real William the Conqueror. Day and Chettle's Blind Beggar of Bednal Green contains more serious history, but still the romantic element is supreme, and, as Ward notes, ^ history is daringly amended by the authors. It is an easy step from such plays to those that utilize traditional lore of a more or less romantic, and, as has been noticed, often of a semi-historical or pseudo-historical character, in which it is not always easy to determine the dramatist's degree of faith. ^ I suppose all Ehza- bethans believed to some extent in Robin Hood, and perhaps the currency gained by the spurious legend that identified him with a thirteenth-century earl of Huntington, the attempt, as it were, to euhemerize the old story, illustrates their fondness for him. In employing Robin Hood ballads, dramatists did not always show keen critical insight. Munday, in The Downfall and Death of Robert Earl of Huntington, used those of a better class, but Peele in Edward I was not at all careful in his choice.* ^ In the opening lines we are told that the king has just returned from fighting in the Holy Land, so that Haywood must have had Richard I or Edward I in mind. * History of English Dramatic Literature, II, 600. ' Some of the plays already mentioned utilized ballad material of one kind or another. * It was in this play that Peele perpetrated the gross libel on Elinor of Castile already referred to, apparently on the basis of a miserable broadside composed by one of the ballad-mongers Nashe so savagely handles in The Anatomy of Absurdity. Other ballad material is employed at the end of the play. Ixx EDWARD II Even when a poet takes his subject-matter with becoming seriousness, we cannot find that he considered himself tied to accuracy in all respects. The True Tragedy of Richard III is full of historical details, yet, as Churchill remarks,^ the author is " exceedingly careless in the use of his authorities," and it seems clear that he often preferred to trust his memory rather than refer back to Hall or to his other sources. The figure of the Bastard Falcon- bridge in The Troublesome Raigne is practically a pure invention of the playwright. One can assign no reason why the author of Jack Straw chose to represent Straw instead of Wat Tyler as slain at Smithfield, and a close study of many a chronicle history in connection with its source will reveal numbers of inaccuracies that are due to careless- ness or negligence. On the other hand, we can frequently see just why alterations were made. It is very clear why in Edward IV Jane Shore came to a tragic end instead of lingering out her life in obscure poverty and dying many long years after her royal lover, as was actually her fate. In Edward III the deviations from history of which complaint has been made^ have mostly very simple explanations. The reign of King John of France is begun years before the real date because the author thought it more effective to oppose a single adversary to the great personality of Edward. The king of Scotland is taken over to France because » Richard the Third, etc., 405. ' See the edition by G. C. Moore Smith, 1897, ix. INTRODUCTION Ixxi of the desire to present in one stage picture two / great kings captive to the king of England.^ The battles of Sluys, Cressy, and Poitiers follow hard upon one another, both because of the desire for rapid action and cumulative stage effect, and because historical drama is wellnigh impossible unless such condensations of chronology are permitted, what- ever be the dramatic form adopted, romantic, classical, or pseudo-classical. At any rate, they were universally practised in the Elizabethan period.'' Sir John Oldcastle was a play designed to rehabihtate the reputation of a fifteenth-century Lollard, a Tendenz-^\a.y, in short, and the material is handled with a view to that end, as when Oldcastle is represented as revealing to Henry the conspiracy of Gray and Scroope, despite the fact that either he had nothing to do with that con- spiracy or else, as Holinshed hints, was privy to it.' In the interpretation of character the chronicle dramatist was far less likely to introduce change, for various reasons. Many a writer did not possess sufficient imaginative power, or was perhaps too indolent, to do more than clothe in reasonably • Cf. Henry V, I, 2, 159 ff. She [England] hath herself not only well defended But taken and impounded as a stray The King of Scots ; whom she did send to France, To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings And make her chronicle as rich with praise, etc. Shakespeare knew clearly what the author of Edward III was about. * In Sejanus, for instance, Jonson, most scrupulous of historical dramatists, combines three sessions of the senate, held in different years, into one. ' See Malone, Ancient British Drama, I, 318, note i. Ixxii EDWARD II appropriate words the conception supplied by his source. Moreover, the chronicles were on the whole considered as authoritative historical records, and few would dream of there being any injustice or incompetence in the general verdict they would pass upon a king's reign or his character. Yet these were by no means the chief reasons for dramatic conservatism. As far as the kings, and for that matter a good many other important historical figures, were concerned, their characters had often become fixed in popular legend as well as in the chronicles. Tradition had been busy with them, and in many cases, perhaps, the chronicle verdict was but a cautious version of the popular belief.^ Had any Elizabethan playwright attempted to whitewash Richard III, his play would have had short shrift. The jolly bonhomie of Edward IV was a cherished national possession. Henry V was a national ideal. Time-honoured Lancaster and the good Duke Humphrey, the innocent Arthur, Robin Hood — ^in all of these the dramatist's work had been largely done for him years before he thought of setting pen to paper. Almost every English king, for example, was expected to display on occasion a wilHngness to hob-nob with the first comer. 2 Furthermore, Elizabethan plays had to be licensed before performance, and if the govern- ment in some respects allowed the stage pretty 1 This is probable on general grounds, and is in particular cases shown by the important studies recently made of the growth of the legends attaching to various historical figures. ^ Cf. Peele's Edward I, Scene i, 249-50. INTRODUCTION Ixxiii free rein, the stage was in others held strictly within bounds. It was all very well that there should flourish a lively drama depicting in vivid scenes the traditional and generally accepted view of the nation's past. That made for peace and gave the rascals something to think about. But the Eliza- bethan government knew apparently better than we do that the stage could set people to thinking, and it would hardly have permitted a revolutionary interpretation of the character of Henry VIII, for example. Shakespeare's English kings are the traditional English kings, and what he did was not to create new conceptions, but to take old con- ceptions and in some magical way blow the breath of life into them. He refined their psychology without altering the main features of their character ; he ennobled their lineaments and yet a child could recognize them.^ We find, then, that we must be cautious in making generalizations about the attitude of the chronicle history writer towards his material and the licence permitted him by his public. We are justified in believing that the chronicle history audiences suspected and perhaps did not alto- gether approve too free a treatment of the subject- matter they loved, since many plays emphasize in some form or another the authenticity of their contents. It may be said that the authors even of 1 Naturally there were hundreds of figures that the dramatist could do what he liked with, and Cobham could appear indifferently as the Oldcastle of the Famous Victories or as the Oldcastle of Sir John Oldcastle, tradition being in each case the dramatist's guide. Ixxiv EDWARD II these plays often departed from strict historical truth and often employed legend and untrust- worthy tradition. We must reahze, however, that the ' science ' of history was then in its swaddling- clothes, that the sound critical interpretation of historical documents was almost impossible, that the necessity for distinguishing between docu- mentary and traditional history was not well understood, and that in the case of biographical plays the dramatist could sometimes find little usable material outside of tradition and scattered anecdote. Much that the veriest sciolist would unhesitatingly throw aside to-day was then gener- ally accepted, and it would be absurd to judge the dramatization of history in Elizabeth's day by anything approaching modern critical standards. There are a good many plays whose authors appar- ently desired to present their material seriously, though they did not consider that a serious presentation forbade them to make changes in minor matters, and though they sometimes handled their authorities carelessly. We must remember \also that Elizabethan dramas were written usually with great rapidity, since the public demanded a constant succession of new plays, and that it would often be impossible for a playwright to devote much care and time to ensuring accuracy in detail ; further, that he could rely to some extent on the ignorance of his audience,^ that he expected his » A large part of his audience could not read ; of those that could, few would think of comparing the play with the chronicle. INTRODUCTION Ixxv play to be discarded after being given six or eight times, if as often, that nobody considered it to be a serious Hterary performance, that it was not likely to be printed and so undergo the test of being read.^ If under such conditions of composition and presentation history was no worse handled than we find it to be, the fact speaks well for the sincerity and conscientiousness of many writers of plays of this kind.^ Further, of those that would be inclined to object, a good number would be classicists, like Sidney, who disliked the very form of the new drama, and would have no more influence upon choice and treatment of material than upon form itself. Others were Puritans, who as yet did not count for much, though, as we shall see, they took exception to the chronicle history on the very ground of which we are speaking. Finally, it might be noted that in a number of cases the chronicles themselves would give different versions of the same episode, and allow the reader to choose the one that liked him best. Sometimes they would contradict one another, and one chronicle would contain matter omitted by another. And of course not every- one had access to a copy of Holinshed or Foxe's Monuments, while occasionally a dramatist would use a MS. authority. ' It is almost certain that we do not possess more than a third of the chronicle plays written between 1585 and 1610 (see below, p. cxxii n.) Some of those we have were printed a number of years after their date of composition. Among the earlier Elizabethan dramatists probably not one composed a play with any view to its appearance in print, except perhaps a court-dramatist like Lyly. ' To understand the situation clearly, we should compare the writer of chronicle histories with the writer of miracle plays, and remember that the development of the English drama was a con- tinuous one. No cycle of miracles gives us an accurate reproduction of the biblical narrative. Not merely are many episodes omitted, meagre situations expanded, opportunities for the introduction of comic scenes utiUzed, but new figures are brought in, new motives inserted, new situations devised, and on more than one occasion large additions made. Chronology is freely handled, legend employed, popular taste consulted. The story of the growth of a miracle play cycle is a story not utterly unlike that which we are attempting to tell. kxvi EDWARD II VI We may profitably look upon the story of the chronicle play as embracing three periods : from its beginnings to the death of Marlowe, thence to 1600, and from 1600 on. If we possessed more plays that could be unhesitatingly assigned to the time before the Spanish Armada, then the date of that event would enable us to distinguish four stages, but our extant material is too scanty to justify a separate consideration of this early phase. Chronological problems, indeed, and for that matter problems of authorship, will constantly arise to perplex us, but not, it may be hoped, so greatly as to make our method of procedure invalid or its results more uncertain than is the lot of human affairs generally. Two groups of plays may be dealt with somewhat briefly. First, there are the plays that Professor Schelling calls ' Senecan derivatives.' These illus- trate the influence exerted upon dramas based on chronicle material by the ideals and the, technique of Seneca's tragedies, but are not numerous because their subject-matter was recalcitrant to classical discipline. Belonging to our first period are Gor- boduc, Richardus Tertius, The Misfortunes of Arthur, and Locrine.^ What is at first striking is the limita- tions of the Senecan influence. None of these plays ' The first three were written respectively 1562-3, 1579, 1587. Locrine was printed in 1595, but undoubtedly belongs before the death of Marlowe, and is by some students placed as early as 1585. For Gorboduc and Richardus Tertius, see above, pp. xxxv., xli. After our first period were written several university Senecan plays, whose existence may be noted, but which will not be discussed. INTRODUCTION Ixxvii confines the action to a climactic episode/ as was the classical practice ; none of them observes the unities of place or time as these had been developed in the Renaissance interpretation of Aristotle. The Misfortunes of Arthur displays a fairly well unified plot, but Gorboduc and Richardus Tertius are simply strings of incident, though neither employs a minor action in the sense in which Locrine does, wherein we find a fully developed subplot totally unrelated to the main theme. All introduce a large number of figures. It is important that we should notice the compulsive nature of the material, which refused absolutely to be cast into the Senecan mould. The Senecan influence shows itself in the long rhetorical speeches, the profusion of reflective and philo- sophical apothegm, the conception of character, the use of certain technical devices, such as the nuntius, the avoidance, though not always strict, of action on the stage, and in other ways that need not be catalogued. Through the exhibition of these features, these plays are related to the learned drama of the universities and the court circle ; at the same time, they help to illustrate the relations between the Elizabethan drama in general and ancient drama. But the classical influence is not I important as regards the chronicle history, outside of this group of plays, and the chronicle drama was aflected by it only superficially and occasionallyr' The modified Elizabethan chorus, which is often used to enable the playwright to shift the scene, to ^ The Misfortunes of Arthur comes nearest to doing so. Ixxviii EDWARD II annihilate time, or to convey information as to the plot, does descend from the classical chorus, and is naturally especially well suited to the aims and methods of the chronicle history. Hence it is of frequent occurrence. But when used it is not to be thought of as showing specific Senecan or classical influence, for it had become a common Elizabethan stage device ; moreover, as just hinted, its use involved no alteration in chronicle history form, but serves perhaps to display in the clearest light the essential nature of that form. In general, we may say that though the influence of Seneca appears here or there, ^ yet the subject-matter was too national, too thoroughly bound up with the insular Mfe and character, to be easily re-interpreted in terms of a foreign dramatic ideal. The second group of plays is well illustrated by Greene's James IV, for the basis of which Greene utilized the first novel of the third decade of the Hecatommithi.^ Such being the case, it is evident that the structure of the play should be considered on special grounds. It must be remembered that Greene did not have to disentangle the threads of his story from amid a mass, and an often bewildering mass, of historical details. He was dramatizing an ItaHan novella, one of a class of stories that almost by definition possessed a certain rough unity and a 1 As when ghosts appear in Richard III, or when in the True Tragedy of Richard III the conception of character is in part deter- mined by Senecan example. Cf . Churchill, Richard the Third, 398 fif. ^ Creizenach, Anglia, VIII, 419 ; the source had, I believe, been earlier noticed by P. A. Daniel in The Academy, but I cannot give the reference. INTRODUCTION Ixxix certain roundness of plot. A play founded on such a story will from that very fact, provided it adhere with tolerable closeness to the source, have some degree of continuity and symmetry. The old play of Leir should be noticed in this connection.^ It was founded upon a passage in Geoffrey that in a measure corresponded to a novella, as do many of his stories, and in consequence the play is also marked by a comparative symmetry that we feel somehow disinclined to attribute to the constructive skill of the author. It may be asked with justice whether if either writer had found the incidents of his play in the later chronicles, dispersed among the events of foreign war and internal dissension, he would have been able to extricate them from their surroundings and present them as simply and as perspicuously as in these two dramas.^ Each play at least has 1 Perrett, Story of Lear, 102 ff., shows that the play was written after 1590, since the writer borrowed from Faerie Queene, II, x ; his suggestion (113) that Lodge's Euphues Shadow, 1592, was utilized does not seem convincing. The play belongs before 1594, as it was entered in that year in the Stationers' Register. ' Cf. my article, A Note on Act Division as practised in the Early Elizabethan Drama, Western Reserve University Bulletin, 1902, pp. 31-3. After publishing that article, I was interested to learn that Luick in 1898 had given expression to the same idea in his article in Festgabe fiir Heinzel, working it out, however, in much greater detail. He goes so far as to say (134-5) • " Est ist denkbar, dass gewisse technische Eigenschaften zunachst nur infolge der Be- schafienheit des Stoffes, unabhangig vom Dichter sich einstellen und erst spater in ihrer Wirksamkeit fur die Zwecke des Dramas erkannt warden, dass man sie hierauf bewusst oder unbewusst anstrebt, auch wenn sie nicht von der Quelle geboten oder nahegelegt werden, dass also mit einem Wort, das Material den Stil beeinflusst — Stil in hoherem Sinn genommen." One wonders whether the argument be not pushed too far, but the truth of the underlying idea is beyond question. A somewhat similar point with regard to the possible influence of Plutarch's biographies is lightly touched on by Creizenach, IV, 186. Ixxx EDWARD II an organized plot, and in that respect differs notably from the run of contemporary chronicle histories. Nevertheless, the tendency which these plays represent, though again important for the drama in general, is of little significance for us except as emphasizing by contrast the somewhat haphazard nature of chronicle play structure. Moreover, what structural progress we shall find in the chronicle history as a literary species will not be due so much to the nature of the material, as to the reflective genius of the playwright. Of the extant plays in the normal line of chronicle history development, upon which our attention wiU be centred henceforward, The Famous Victories of Henry V is probably the earliest.^ Intrinsically it is of absolutely no merit, being devoid of style, characterization, or any vestige of dramatic power.* It is written in the baldest prose, which the unscrupu- lous printer cut up into short lengths to pass for verse, and Tarlton's own popularity was doubtless what gave it the vogue it seems to have possessed.* The play has, nevertheless, an extrinsic interest for several reasons. It undoubtedly supplied hints to Shakespeare, and perhaps also to the author of 1 We know that Tarlton took part in it, and Tarlton died in September, 1588. The play may easily be much earlier ; cf. con- jectural dates of Collier and Schelling, above, p. xxxix, note. For the sources see Kabel, Die Sage von Heinrich V, Palaestra LXIX, and Baeske, Oldcastle : Falstaff, Palaestra L. ^ Save perhaps in the somewhat amusing scene in which Derrick and John impersonate Henry and the Chief Justice. ' Nashe, Pierce Penilesse, Works, ed. McKerrow, I, 213.I INTRODUCTION Ixxxi Locrine.^ In addition, it gives us a shrewd glance into the ' milieu ' of the chronicle history in its period of inception. Had the play been designed to please a refined audience, its author must have striven to bestow some touch of poetry, to impart some grace of language, to instil some life into his figures. Unfortunately he could only too confidently rely upon the clownery of Tarlton and the patriotic temper of the spectators ; and in consequence we see plainly the essentially ' popular ' origin of this dramatic species. Its beginnings are to be sought just where it is for us most difficult to find them, among the long-lost and long-forgotten plays of the inn yards and the theatre. Its growth owed Httle to Court patronage, but very much to the enthusiasm of miscellaneous audiences.^ Its decline, as we shall see, was due, not so much to desertion by the people, as to the vicissitudes of the stage in the reign of James. ^ ' Or vice versa, as the relative dates of the two plays are not definitely known. Both Strumbo and John are cobblers, each is pressed for the wars, each has his attendant clown, and their military experiences are not unlike. 2 See above, p. xliii. ' The anonymous play of Jack Straw may be mentioned here as further illustrating these remarks, but not as deserving extensive treatment. The date is probably about 1587 (see the edition by H. Schiitt, 1901, 62) ; the author is unknown, though Schiitt assigns the work to Peele. The play was designed for the same kind of audience as that of The Famous Victories, and was written by a playwright of much the same capacity. It differs, however, in two respects : first, as being written in a mixture of prose, doggerel couplets of four accents, and blank verse ; second, as showing some- what the influence of material upon structure in that the writer deals only with the rebellion of Wat Tyler, and hence his play is better unified. It is impossible, nevertheless, to believe that this improve- ment was the result of deliberate forethought. Ixxxii EDWARD II Out of the discussion as to the relative dates of The True Tragedy of Richard III and The Trouble- some Raigne of King John nothing decisive seems to have arisen. ^ The former play begins with a conversation between Truth and Poetry, in which Poetry, in the attitude of one desirous of instruction, asks various questions that elicit from the lips of Truth a flood of historical information serving as a kind of propaedeutic to the drama itself. Truth is sponsor for the work and asserts that her function is to add ' bodies to the shadows ' in which Poetry ordinarily deals. So completely is the writer dominated by this conception of his dramatic office that he several times intrudes into the dialogue lists of such happenings as he could not manage to produce on the stage. It is very amusing that though in one 1 Kopplow, Shakespeare's " King John " und Seine Quellen, 1900, 29 fi. ; Churchill, Story of Richard, 485 ff., where he supports the theory of Fleay that The True Tragedy was later than the Henry VI plays. The evidence that Marlowe influenced the writer of Richard III does not seem as strong as Churchill would have us believe. As we have no space for the detailed analysis of the problem, I have cut the knot by accepting the traditional date, c. 1587-8, which is cer- tainly supported by the extraordinary mixture of prose, poulter's measure, and blank verse in which the play is written (compare Jack Straw) and by the points assembled by Kopplow, 28. It may be observed, at the same time, that the common belief that The Troublesome Raigne was written after Tamburlaine is not necessarily well grounded. What students usually call the Prologue, in which the reference to Tamburlaine occurs, is really entitled ' Lines to the Gentlemen Readers,' and hence may have to do only with the printing of the play in 1591 (note that Tamburlaine was printed in 1590). Moreover, these ' lines ' do not describe the play with any accuracy, as may easily be seen by anyone who chooses to compare, and hence sound very much more like bait thrown out for an unwary prospective purchaser, who might glance at them to find out the character of the play, than like a real prologue. We know well enough that publishers (Jid adopt such devices. Barnaby INTRODUCTION Ixxxiii place a stage direction tells us that the queen and her children enter and take sanctuary, yet there is no accompanying dialogue and the stage direction occurs between two scenes taking place in a distant part of England. One wonders just how the situa- tion was made clear to the spectators of this ' dumb- show,' though the author does not give it that name.^ Furthermore, the fact that so much preliminary infor- mation was thought necessary shows how far the author was from conceiving of his play as an indepen- dent whole. A good play should contain within itself all the data necessary to its comprehension, should furnish its own explanation, and answer its own prob- lems. A good play is a sphere. But the chronicle dramatist thought of his play as a fragment.^ Riche complains of having been taken in by ' flourishing titles ' (Faultes, 1606, 40). Yet a further current misconception may be noted. It is true that the play as printed was divided into two parts, but was it in the first place ? In Steevens' edition in Six Old Plays it takes up ninety-three full pages. Leir in the same volume takes up eighty-five. In other words, the two parts of the one take up only eight more pages than the single play. Again, the first part occu- pies fifty-six pages, the second thirty-seven. The probability is that the division of the play into parts had to do only with the printing of it. If so, the lines prefixed to the second part can hardly be a re- named prologue. The play is perhaps earlier than Tamhwrlaine ; the Marlowe parallels that Kopplow brings forward, p. 25, prove little one way or the other (indeed they are not parallels at all, con- sidered in relation to context). * It is proper to point out that the play was carelessly printed and that the MS. may even have been seriously defective. Churchill, 404. * Cf. Henry V, V, Prologue, i fi.: Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story. That I may prompt them : and of such as have, I humbly pray them to admit the excuse Of time, of numbers and due course of things, Which cannot in their huge and proper life Be here presented. Ixxxiv EDWARD II English history was composed of a long chain of incidents. Selecting more or less arbitrarily two points some distance apart, he severed the chain thereat, and the excised portion formed his play. His endings are points in time, not in evolution, unless it so happens that the wheel of evolution comes full circle just in the nick of time.^ In surveying the portion of history that he selected, the author of The Troublesome Raigne confined his attention to three lines of incident. John's quarrel with the Pope, the wars with France, and the death of Arthur. These he handled with more skill than is displayed in the previous play, though hardly so well as quite to justify the praise bestowed upon his work by Luick.^ To be sure, he so manipulates events as to create causal relations ^ A radically different view of this play is entertained by Churchill. He regards it as a character-drama, showing the influence of Marlowe in the dominating position occupied by the figure of Richard. " The True Tragedy shows such a selection of scenes and such a subordina- tion of detaUs that the figure of Richard is always before the actual or the mental eye " (p. 399). I cannot quite comprehend this judg- ment. Richard is hardly more dominant, in the sense in which Tamburlaine is, in the play than in the chronicle accounts of his reign, and I Cannot feel that he ' absorbs ' such interest as the drama excites. Churchill admits that the subplot of Shore's wife forms an exception. Toward the end Richmond receives his full share of attention, and the play runs on for seven or eight dreary pages after the death of Richard. (See also the excellent discussion of this play in Luick, Festgabe ftir Heinzel, 178 ff., 186-7.) Yet we may freely admit that the author had a definite conception of Richard's character, and that he stands on a higher plane than the writer of The Famous Victories. He was also somewhat influenced by Legge's Richardus Tertius (ChurchOl, 475 ff.). ^ Festgahe fur Heinzel, 1898, 1752. Creizenach, IV, 596 ff., also praises this play from this point of view and remarks that the author was perhaps the first dramatist to endeavour to arrange chronicle material in an artistic fashion. INTRODUCTION Ixxxv where the chronicles do not exhibit them and where, indeed, they did not exist (the revolt of the barons, for instance, having no connection in reality with the death of Arthur), and thus he may well have enter- tained a higher conception of unity than at first sight we might suppose. Yet apparently he failed to perceive that it was inconsistent with dramatic unity to present his several themes as of equal rank. All three are co-ordinate in importance, and our attention in consequence is dissipated over a wide field. Real unity is not attained, nor can we say justly that the dramatist understood quite what it meant. It is still the unity of personality that is his principal concern, and the play still fails to rise above the plane of a survey. This conclusion becomes the more firmly grounded when we consider the character of the Bastard.' Historically a person of nothing like the importance he possesses in the play, he was evidently a figure in which the dramatist took the greatest interest, and may perhaps be regarded as the first attempt at dramatic creation in the higher sense of the term that the chronicle history, if not the popular drama, displays. He is the most energetic character in the piece, bolstering up the weakling John, rebuking the insurgent nobles, oppressing the clergy, and avenging Richard the Lion-hearted. It may be noted that he ^ The playwright's real contribution to the development of the drama is not well understood until we observe the variety of materials utilized in the construction of this figure. {Steevens, Boswell's Malone's Variofum, XV, 202, note 8 ; Boswell-Stone, Shakespeare' s Holinshed, 1896, 48 ff.; Kopplow, u.s., 12 fif.) Ixxxvi EDWARD II appears in every scene in which John figures, and in three important scenes in which John does not ; in only two or three scenes is he absent. When he is sent over to England to press money from the un- willing monks, the dramatist, instead of remaining abroad with John, follows his deputy across the Channel. In view of these facts, we may ask whether Falconbridge was not, in the mind of the playwright, almost the central personage. In the fact that none of the plays just dealt with betrays, at least in any noticeable degree, the influence of the great uprush of national feeling that followed the defeat of the Armada lies another reason for discussing them before considering the significance of that tremendous catastrophe.^ When the Spanish vessels fled before the storm, many of them doomed to bring unlooked-for wealth to savage Irish and half -savage Scot, on up the Channel to the north, what Englishman failed to realize that a great stage of national development had been completed ? Up to that time the genius of England had felt itself in a 1 I do not mean, of course, merely that specific references to the Armada are absent from them, but that they are, on the whole at any rate, devoid of that heightened and quickened sentiment which was so strikingly a feature of English life and letters after 1588. Naturally that fact does not at all prove that they were written earlier, but it may be accepted as confirmatory of such other evi- dence as we possess and as justifying the arrangement I have adopted. Fleay, Biographical Chronicle, II, 52, sees an allusion to the ' threatened ' Armada in the closing lines of The Troublesome Raigne. Of course the Armada had been ' threatened ' for several years before it actually came, so that if any allusion is to be seen here, little aid is afforded in fixing the date. For a still feebler effort to discover an allusion in the same play, see Kopplow, 24. INTRODUCTION Ixxxvii measure rebuked before that of Spain. A victory so / overwhelming, however, engendered an extravagant self-confidence in the hearts of the English people. In response there is struck in the chronicle history ; a note hitherto rarely heard. The feelings tha^ animated Enghshmen of 1589 were thrown back to the earher periods of their national existence, and former events were regarded in the light that flared from the burning hulks of Spanish galleons. The Armada also marks the entrance of new forces in another way, since — ^though we cannot here speak of any influence that it exerted — its date is yet practically coincident with the irruption into the popular drama of a group of men of greater dramatic talents than those of previous writers for the public stage. With Kyd and Greene ^ we have nothing to do, but Peele interests us somewhat, and Marlowe and Shakespeare supremely. Whether Peele was the first of these three to handle chronicle material no one knows. Certainly little injustice is done him in considering Edward I before we take up the greater men. Peele's superiority to his predecessors was not so clearly shown in the chronicle history as it was elsewhere, for he neither took his material more ^ James IV and Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay belong to out- lying tracts of the chronicle history that have been sufificiently treated. Various attempts have been made to assign to Greene The Trouble- some Raigne and Locrine, as well as small parts of the Henry VI group. Nothing has been established, however, and Greene's activity in the field of the chronicle history in the narrower sense must remain matter of individual opinion. Ixxxviii EDWARD II seriously, nor did he manipulate it with greater skill. In fact, the Edward I is structurally considerably inferior to The Troublesome Raigne or even the old Richard 1 11.^ Welsh and Scottish battle scenes are fantastically intermingled with episodes lugged in by the head and shoulders from second-rate Robin Hood ballads, and the incongruous spectacle is further diversified with incidents supposedly drawn from the private life of Edward's Spanish queen. ^ Progress is not to be looked for in this direction. Yet if Peele treated parts of his material with a flippant cynicism quite worthy of George Pyeboard,* his play is not to be cast wholly into the outer dark- ness. It is the first chronicle history in which the stage directions evince a deliberate appeal to the spectacular,* wherein we doubtless discern the ^ Peele is, however, sometimes condemned too severely in this regard, for the play was incompetently printed and the MS. was evi- dently faulty in the extreme. There are, I think, clear indications that the printer's MS. represented an intermediate stage in the com- position of the play. What the text was like at the time of acting we simply do not know. But the drama cannot have been well constructed in any case. " See above, p. Ixix. Peele was, of course, deliberately making his profit out of the blind hatred of everything Spanish that ruled after the Armada. His treatment of Elinor of Castile has been accurately characterized as infamous. ' See The Jests of George Peele, printed by Dyce in his edition. * Scene I, 40. " The trumpets sound, and enter the train, viz., his 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 Longshanks and his wife Elinor, Edmond Couchback, and Joan, and Signor Mountfort, the Earl of Leicester's prisoner, with Sailors and Soldiers, and Charles de Mountfort his brother." INTRODUCTION Ixxxix influence of Marlowe's Tamburlaine. The opening scene, too, envelops the reader in a new atmosphere. The queen-mother announces to the assembled lords the imminent arrival of their king, and directs them to prepare him a suitable welcome. Taking then the greatness of England as her theme, she delivers a vigorous and spirited address : Illustrious England, ancient seat of kings. Whose chivalry hath royalised thy fame. That sounding bravely through terrestrial vale. Proclaiming conquests, spoils, and victories. Rings glorious echoes through the farthest world ; What warlike nation, trained in feats of arms, What barbarous people, stubborn or untamed, ****** Erst have not quaked and trembled at the name Of Britain and her mighty conquerors ? ****** Thus Europe, rich and mighty in her kings. Hath feared brave England, dreadful in her kings. Surely we have here something to which we find no close parallel in earlier chronicles, for such apostrophes to England are not made in preceding plays, though occasionally we may come across a hne or two like those with which The Troublesome Raigne concludes. The rest of the scene is in keeping with this opening. Edward makes an imposing entrance at the head of his army, and the glory that he has won for England in his Eastern wars is made the subject of grandiloquent speeches of a similar cast. The scene possesses a dignity and elevation^ ' Ward, English Dramatic Literature, I, 370 (ed. 1899), says that Edward's entry " vaguely recalls that of the ^schylean Aga- memnon." xc EDWARD II not found in the plays that we have hitherto glanced at. New elements have made their way into the chronicle drama. England has at last entered into her inheritance. It seems probable that the first part of Henry Vt was composed before The First Part of the Contention between the Houses of York and Lancaster, and The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York,^ and it may very possibly have been anterior even to Edward I, for it certainly as regards plotting represents a stage little in advance of that drama. It is " broken and 1 The problems of authorship and date raised by the Henry VI plays cannot of course be discussed in detail, but it is necessary that the position on which the remarks in the text above are based should be made clear. For the literature of the subject in general see Schelling, Elizabethan Drama, II, 471. 2 and 3 Henry VI were based respectively on the Contention and the True Tragedy. 1 Henry VI was probably revived 1592 (Fleay, Life of Shakespeare, 259 ; cf. W. W. Greg, in The Library, n.s., IV, 270). In i Henry VI as originally performed (perhaps identical with extant version minus IV, 2-7), in the Contention, and in the True Tragedy Marlowe was largely concerned (probably his was the dominating mind in the last two, if not in i Henry VI). Who were his coadjutors is uncertain, though many believe that Greene was one of them, nor is it certain that he had a hand in revising the Contention and the True Tragedy into 2 and 3 Henry VI. The share of Shakespeare in the original plays is likewise doubtful. From our point of view, however, the important matter is that Marlowe appears to have had a considerable share in all three original plays. Other questions are merely subsidiary. (Crawford, Collectanea, I, 79, asserts that he can prove that Marlowe had no share in these plays, but his argument has not yet been published. Creizenach, IV, 657, note i, calls the doctrine of collaborative authorship a ' ganzlich verfehlte Meinung,' and dismisses it rather arbitrarily. At the worst it de- serves, especially in a work of the scope and importance of the Geschichte des Neueren Dramas, somewhat more respectful con- sideration.) Moreover, the Contention and the True Tragedy may be regarded as identical with 2 and 3 Henry VI, since in the last two plays the arrangement and disposition of material and the concep- tion of character are the same as in the first two. What improve- INTRODUCTION xci choppy to an intolerable degree."^ Yet the play is not entirely aimless, since the desire of the authors seems to have been to give a rapid and comprehen- sive survey of the wars with France and to provide through York's interview with Mortimer and the marriage of Henry with Margaret a point of depar- ture for the great civil wars that were to form the subject of the succeeding members of the series. The purpose is not satisfactorily achieved and was in itself essentially non-dramatic. In that respect, however, neither the authors nor the public found fault with it. In one important feature, to be sure, Henry VI, part I, is far superior to Edward I. The dignified, and even lofty tone characteristic of the first scene of that play is not maintained throughout the drama, large portions of which are trivial and vulgar in the extreme. Such is not the case with Henry VI, wherein the general tone is at once poetically more elevated than in Edward I and far more consistently supported. The style of the play is not so much unequal as varied ; it permits us indeed to conjecture ment is found is in versification, poetical quality, adequacy of dic- tion and expression, psychological detail, a few historical correc- tions, and the handling of particular situations (e.g. the exit of Gloster, 2 Henry VI, I, iii, 140-55). The improvement is undeni- ably great and manifold, but it does not extend to fundamental conceptions. In other words, history is interpreted and dramatized in substantially the same way in both groups ; these may therefore be considered as one, and as exemplifying a stage in the treatment of historical material preliminary to Edward II. I did not see Tucker Brooke's article on the authorship of these plays {Transactions of the Connecticut Acad, of Arts and Sciences, vol. 17) until too late to make use of it. ^ Furnivall, Leopold Shakspere, xxxviii. xeii EDWARD II a multiple authorship, but upon a horizontal rather than a vertical scale. The first part of Henry VI has then a particular interest because it shows the greatest writers of the time engaged in historical work, and because it was the first chronicle history to exhibit in a notable degree a seriousness of style and intention. Yet it does more. It shows that these poets, coming fresh to the dramatization of their country's history, appeared to feel no more than did their predecessors in the work the necessity of looking below the surface of events, of attempting to introduce more than a semblance of order into the chaos of dramatic material supplied by the chronicles. To ascribe to collaboration the ' choppy ' character of the play is of course merely one way of saying that they were willing to enter upon the task under such conditions. Yet among them there was at least one gifted with the capacity to see more deeply into the nature of dramatic plotting than did his fellow-labourers. It will not be out of place here to point out very briefly how rapidly Marlowe's dramatic powers were matur- ing. Although Marlowe found unity of personality in ; the drama when he entered the field, there remained ^ somewhat for him to do toward making it an effective structural principle. It remained for him to throw overwhelming emphasis upon the unifying figure through conceiving it as the incarnation of an elemental force, for it is thus that Tamburlaine appeals to us. In this way he not merely provided INTRODUCTION xciii a central figure, but actually centralized the interest. Yet he himself doubtless realized that in this respect he had gone too far and that he had, through the failure to provide a proper antagonist, deprived his play of real dramatic power, making it simply a succession of scenes in which motives and situations were repeated time and again and of which the outcome was never for a moment in uncertainty. At any rate, no succeeding play of his displays the same disproportion among the characters. If Tam- burlaine seemed for the moment to be the equal of the gods, Faustus is not such. Possessed of gigantic aspirations, he is yet a man in their fulfilment, the struggle is a struggle carried on in a human soul, and the issue of the conflict is defeat. Of the Jew of Malta we may speak in the same terms. Here the impulse to the plot comes originally from the outside, the principal character has assistants in his villainy, he miscalculates his means, and eventually is out- witted at his own game. Throughout the plays is to be discerned a steady progress toward the goal of equihbrium in characterization, towards the opposi- tion of fit antagonists to a hero with human limitations . As much may be said of the treatment of the plot. Tamburlaine is a succession of loosely related scenes, in which there is endless repetition, and which possess spectacular, but hardly dramatic interest. The conflict is a purely physical conflict, and the hero pursues the career of a professional conqueror. The mutilated condition of Faustus compels us to speak with caution as regards its form on leaving xciv EDWARD II Marlowe's hands ; yet we can safely say that despite the numerous trivialities that compose the middle part of the action, some notion of a definite conflict carried to a definite conclusion was in his mind at the time of writing. That the plan was confused, vague, overlaid with unessential and irritating details must be admitted ; still, when we dismiss from consideration for an instant the horse-courser and the clown, the emperor and the rival magician, the remainder of the play, like some battered fragment of antique statuary, enables us to trace the concep- tion in the artist's thought — proportioned, sym- metrical, unified. A further advance confronts us in the Jew of Malta, wherein the parts of the action are so related to one another as to constitute a plot in the true sense of the term, though to be sure not one with the execution of which we are unable to find fault. If we are justified in detecting in the plays of which Marlowe was undisputed author such evidences of a progressive comprehension of the dramatic art, we would seem to be likewise justified in looking for similar evidences in the group of dramas that we are now considering, so far at least as their being written in collaboration permits. Marlowe had in Tambur- laine treated semi-historical material, and in i Henry VI had undertaken the chronicle history proper. The fruits then of a certain amount of experience with subject-matter of this kind might be expected to appear in the Contention and The True Tragedy, and in fact these plays unquestionably show a real desire to survey an historical period in INTRODUCTION xcv such a way as to give a more than merely superficial account of it, and at the same time a desire to arrange the incidents in accordance with a deliber- ately adopted principle. This design was very imperfectly carried out of course, but that its execution was attempted is the important thing. The mechanical explanation of the course of human events that occupies so disproportionate a space in modern historical science is found only occasionally and in its rudimentary form in the histories of that day. A revolt of the commons might no doubt be ascribed to a period of dearth or to high taxation, and in a few simple cases of that type something like a mechanical explanation would come to light, though even here Providence rather than natural forces operating in an orderly manner would usually be thought of as really at work. For the Elizabethan the moving forces of history were three in number : Providence, Fortune (whom we meet everywhere in Renaissance literature),^ and human character. The ' A multitude of passages from the various Renaissance litera- tures might be given to illustrate the point (e.g. Machiavelli, II Principe, XXV ; Petrarch's Letters, passim, notably IV, xii, VI, v ; Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, xxvi, 47, Con la fortuna d'Alessandro, senza Cui saria fumo ogni disegno, e nebbia), but it is clearly enough stated in Chapman's Bussy d'Ambois, V, ii, 41 ff. (ed. Parrott) : So this whole man . . . shall reel and fall Before the frantic puffs of blind-born chance, That pipes through empty men, and makes them dance. Not so the sea raves on the Lybian sands. . . . As Fortune swings about the restless state Of virtue, now thrown into all men's hate. See also, in the preface to Knolles' History of the Turks, ed. 1610, his analysis of the reasons why European countries had not over- come the Ottoman. xcvi EDWARD II first two were unfathomable. Whoever tried really to understand a particular historical process would seek his explanation, after making all due allowance for the finger of God and for incalculable chance, in the purposes and qualities of the men concerned.^ It is not to be supposed that writers of plays should have looked upon history otherwise, especially since, as serious dramatists, character would be almost their chief pre-occupation.^ From the point of view of the interpretation of history, then, the plays that we are considering should be judged by the clearness and force with which that explanation is presented. The general conceptions of character inevitably came largely from the chronicles, but the sharpness of outUne, the fullness of portraiture, the content of personality, were for the poet to supply. It was for him, in short, to energize events by depicting human character as a visibly operating principle. Thus looked at, the Contention and the True Tragedy exhibit a desire to do more than pass rapidly over the mere surface of things, as chronicle history writers had usually been content to do. Character ' How large a part does this tjrpe of explanation occupy in the Henry VII of Bacon, whom we think of as our first writer of philo- sophical history ; so in the Italians, his predecessors, of. Machiavelli and Guicciardini ; it is a maxim of Guicciardini, for example, that the wisdom of a plan of action is not to be judged by the outcome ; and other thoughtful writers are constantly giving utterance to the same idea. » Sometimes, as here and there in Jonson's Sejanus and Catiline, the poet seems to have in view the larp;er sweep of impersonal social and economic forces ; but everything of this kind Jonson would get from the classics, and in any case the explanation is not mechani- cal in the modern sense. INTRODUCTION xcvii is vigorously presented, if not always with refine- ment or consistency. For the first time a reasonably successful attempt is made to ' philosophize ' history in the only way possible for a playwright of that day : namely, to interpret events in terms of human character. For this reason they serve as indicative of the road by which the chronicle history passes eventually into the historical drama, yet because of their manifold imperfections they still remain well within the bounds of the species. As we read the Contention, it becomes apparent also that we cannot divide the play into separate and independent hnes of interest, as was the case with Edward I. Practically all of the material taken from the chronicles bears upon the struggle between the Houses of York and Lancaster, with perhaps the exception of one or two minor episodes. No doubt the process of selection was not in this instance very difficult, and yet Hohnshed- contains a good deal of incidental matter that might easily have distracted the minds of dramatists less intent upon the main issue. Early in the play there are put into the mouth of York lines designed to give the spectator a point of view and a key to the events that follow. Then Yorke be still a while till time do serve, Watch thou, and wake when others be a sleepe, :{: i{: ^ 4: :ic 9}: Then will I raise aloft the milke-white rose, ****** And force perforce, ile make him yeeld the Crowne, Whose bookish rule hath puld faire England downe.* ^ I. i. 155 ff- Cambridge Shakespeare, ed. 1893, IX. G xcviii EDWARD II Moreover, events so apparently irrelevant as Cade's rebellion, and such apparently retarding episodes as York's own journey to Ireland, are distinctly made to forward his plans. York instigates the first as a means of furthering his designs through the creation of a state of unrest within the kingdom, ^ and through the second provides himself with means for taking advantage of the opportunities that may thus be offered. 'Twas men I lackt, and now they give them me.' A fairly consistent point of view is thus maintained, and the action consequently possesses a certain coherence, a logical sequence, foreign to earUer plays. The chronicle history has undergone a gain in distinctness and definiteness of intention. The defects of the play in the matter of structure are, of course, equally obvious. They arise in the main from an overplus of incident. The downfall of Gloster, the banishment and death of Suffolk, the death of Winchester are all necessary preUminaries to the execution of York's plans, but are only preliminaries. Presented, however, at such length as in the play, they distract attention and dissipate dramatic interest. The fact that the playwright 1 Holinshed does not supply this link of connection. He says that the rebellion of Cade was perhaps stirred up by friends of York, but he does not say that York himself brought it about, nor does he suggest that it was merely one step in a plot that looked far ahead. The foresight and prudence characteristic of York in the play are not characteristic of him in the chronicle to at least anything like the same extent. ' III, i, 172. This suggestion is not in Holinshed either. INTRODUCTION xcix tells us from time to time in so many words just what the relation of a given episode is to the plan of the drama as a whole, is no sufficient make- weight for such dispersed emphasis. When we add to these incidents the rebellion of Cade and the final rebellion of York himself, we are faced with a mass of material almost unmanageable in its extent. No sense of proportion is exhibited, there is no effective dramatic discrimination between major and minor parts, between what is preliminary and what is an integral part of the main theme. The dramatist knows the logical relation of the parts of his action and he gives us a statement of it, but fails to incorporate it in the warp and woof. The con- ception of the survey of a period is still in fact, if not in theory, dominant, and it renders impossible a due concentration of interest. Dramatists still had to learn two lessons in dealing with historical subject-matter : that of economy of material, and of a properly distributed emphasis in its representa- tion. The True Tragedy possesses, of course, a similar unity of theme which is obscured by defects of a similar kind. The events depicted form the upshot of the plans laid by Richard in the previous drama, and the play closes when the objective point of the dramatist is fully attained and the House of York is firmly seated upon the throne. In good chronicle fashion, however, Richard dies early, and his place is taken by his son and heir. The succession of battle-scenes is altogether monotonous, and the c EDWARD II play lacks something of the interest of its pre- decessor, since the struggle is mainly one of physical force. It hardly seems probable that we go too far in ascribing to Marlowe the main credit for the advance that the Contention and The True Tragedy display over earlier dramas. In the work neither of Peele nor of Greene, both of whom have often been assigned shares in the collaboration, can be dis- cerned much that justifies holding them responsible, as regards either structure or conception of character. To neither, for example, can have been due the powerfully imagined though roughly executed figure of Margaret. Yet in any case, and without calling to our aid the fact that " a general consensus of the best opinion assigns to Marlowe a chief hand in both Contentions,"^ we can see that in them he must have gained a large amount of useful experience, and that to his work upon them was largely due that ' his- torical spirit ' of which we find in Edward II such plentiful manifestations. I should not wish to be misunderstood in thus using the term ' historical spirit.' Marlowe did not make any effort to envelop his figures in the specific atmosphere of their time, nor do we expect him to exhibit any great measure of profound historical * Schelling, Elizabethan Drama, I, 267. ' Both Contentions ' means the Contention and The True Tragedy. Schelling remarks : "i Henry VI is considered an old play by Greene, assisted by Peele and Marlowe." I should like to accept this assignment, which would excellently account for the scrappiness of i Henry VI and the com- parative unity of the other parts, but as yet I have not been able to see much belonging to Greene in any of these plays. INTRODUCTION ci insight. He had neither the philosophical instinct of men hke Machiavelh and Bacon, nor their broad knowledge of the doings of the human race in its corporate and political capacity. But I do believe that he came to look upon a given historical process, when selected for dramatization, as essentially a unitary fact, as a tissue woven of cause and effect. The particular causes and effects may, perhaps, be wrongly connected from the point of view of present knowledge. An ' interpretation of history,' however, need not be correct in order to be an interpretation, and the historical spirit has under- gone change and development as have all other things. Marlowe, as we shall see, endeavoured in Edward II to Select, proportion, and emphasize his material in such a way as to illustrate with logical cogejicy a salient aspect of the reign of Edward of "^ Carnarvon. He endeavoured furthermore to explain events through the purposes and qualities of the men concerned in them. Finally, he strove to make his figures real and living, so that the relation between character and events should appear neces- sary and organic. To entertain such aims is to be animated by the historical spirit, though perhaps not to be acquainted with modern improvements. Let us glance at what material Marlowe did not include that would have formed a lively attraction for the ordinary chronicle history writer, as well as for his audience. Marlowe omitted the suppression of the order of the Temple ; everything connected with the constant warfare with Scotland, except, cii EDWARD II the allusions in 11. 655-6, 913, 962, 975 ff. ; every- thing connected with the Irish wars, except the allu- sions in 11. 419, 960 ; everything connected with Edward's journey to France to do homage, and with the French attacks on his continental pos- sessions, except the allusions in 11. 958, 1350 ff. ; all quarrels between Edward and the nobles on grounds other than his maintenance of lewd favour- ites, such as the quarrel between the king and Lancaster about Lancaster's homage for the earldom of Lincoln, and that arising from Isabella's exclu- sion from the castle of Badlesmere. Furthermore, he omitted all private wars, such as those between Banister and Lancaster, between Middleton and the Bishop of Durham, between the Marcher lords and the Despensers, except the allusion in 1. 1341 f. ; all the give and take of the war against Lancaster and his party save their final overthrow ; the incident of the impostor Poidras ; the treason of Andrew Harclay ; the condemnation of Orleton, Bishop of Hereford ; and finally, all such distractions of the kingdom as took place between the murder of Edward and the execution of Mortimer, except the rising of the Earl of Kent. We learn much from these omissions alone. Let us observe also some of the principal means by which the material that Marlowe did include was brought into close logical connection.^ We may notice first that the defeat and execution of ^ Illustrative quotations from Holinshed, as well as further dis- cussion, wUl be found in the notes. INTRODUCTION ciii Lancaster are made the immediate outcome of the struggle against Gaveston and of his murder. Actually these events had little to do with one another. Ten years intervened between them, during which Lancaster and Edward were more than once reconciled only to quarrel again, and the former's overthrow and death were the direct result of a quite new series of events. It is true, however, that Holinshed'^ had already called atten- tion to the king's enduring memory of his dead favourite, and had suggested that the desire to obtain revenge for Gaveston's murder was an additional motive leading Edward to show no pity toward the rebellious earl when once he had him at his feet. Marlowe improves upon this suggestion, obliterates all other causes of quarrel, and unites the two events by a stringent necessity. He also saw it to be dramatically inevitable that Warwick should share Lancaster's fate. As a matter of fact, Warwick died peaceably in his bed several years after the savage slaughter upon Blacklow Hill. The lives of other persons are altered with a like sovereign disregard of pedantic historical accuracy. The Spensers were not men of negligible importance who elected to creep into court favour through dependence upon Gaveston. Themselves of noble birth, it was not until some years after his fall that they began to fill his place, in more senses indeed • Marlowe drew mainly from Holinshed, borrowing an incident or two from Fabyan and Stow. See Tzschaschel, Marlowe's Edward II und seine Quellen, Halle, 1902, which contains little not already made known by Fleay and Tancock. civ EDWARD II than one. The Mortimers likewise had nothing to do with the earher struggle, but it was from every point of view a sure dramatic instinct which laid early in the play the foundations of the opposition of natures that worked oiit ultimately to fatal issues. Too quick a criticism might see in the play structural weakness arising from a repetition of motives not unlike what we find in Tamburlaine. The Spensers, it might be said, repeat Gaveston, and the struggle against them duplicates that against him, with the result that after the death of Lancaster there is a certain lowering of tension, a deficiency in dramatic interest. We can hardly deny that such a lowering of tension does occur, though due mainly to other causes, as will shortly be seen. The repetition of motives we may hke- wise admit to exist in some degree, without, how- ever, great prejudice to Marlowe. Conceivably the play might have gained somewhat had the Spensers been suppressed entirely, and the tragedy of Gaveston been treated as sufficiently representing the unwise subservience of Edward to those para- sites who, in the guise of loving subjects, preyed upon him and his kingdom. But was Marlowe quite prepared to introduce into his subject-matter a change so sweeping and fundamental, a change so much more subversive than any of those just catalogued ? Dramatists who, Hke Peele and many another, merely played with history, might distort it as they would. Dramatists, however, who, like Marlowe and Shakespeare, had a reverence for INTRODUCTION cv their material as belonging to the great past of their country, quite distinct from their perception of its availability for dramatic treatment, would be driven to accept a compromise between the artistic con- science insisting that the plot should satisfy the demands of their art and the historical conscience insisting that it should have at least a general conformity to the facts of the case. And perhaps this discussion is somewhat superfluous, since it is unUkely that Marlowe ever thought of the change as even desirable. To assume that he did is to assume that he possessed a full recognition of all that is implied in the distinction between the two kinds of historical truth, the ideal and the literal, that he had a deep philosophic insight into dramatic problems. Flashes of such insight Eliza- bethan criticism and practice everywhere display, but nowhere, and least of all as early as 1590, do they cohere into a reasoned theory such as is in this case implied. The Elizabethan drania was opportunist and empirical, and one learned how to handle historical material by handling it as best one could. Meanwhile, there are other points of view. There is, after all, no mere repetition. Young Spenser is no mere replica of Gaveston. The king's fondness for him is largely due to his own loving memory of the close association between him and the dead favourite, and so the second situation rather con- tinues the first than repeats it. More deeply con- sidered, it is in Edward's very nature to have cvi EDWARD II favourites. His greatest need is to be loved as a friend, not obeyed as a sovereign. His greatest fault is that he cannot reconcile the demands of his nature with those of his rank. Marlowe has ennobled the relationship between Edward and his minions, by creating a reciprocal affection. Holinshed no doubt gives us to understand that the king loved them with an entire love, but that they selfishly used him chiefly as a means whereby to hoist themselves into prominence and power. In the play Gaveston's love for Edward is deeply personal, and the cold blood in which Young Spenser reckons up his grounds for attaching himself to the king's party becomes warmed by the sun of his favour into a genuine friendship. Thus the repetition, to use again a word that hardly applies, is dramatically an out- growth of character, just as historically it was a necessary ingredient of the plot, and we see clearly how the creative vigour of the poet informs " dust and ashes, dead and done with," with vital force. Just because, however, Marlowe did not succeed in establishing an equally close logical nexus in the representation of certain other characters does the play undergo that lowering of dramatic ten- sion of which we cannot deny the existence. As regards both Isabel and Young Mortimer, we are compelled after the overthrow of Lancaster to adjust ourselves somewhat violently to a new psychological situation. Both of them undergo changes in character that do not seem adequately (^ounted for. Marlowe desired unquestionably INTRODUCTION cvii to make these changes comprehensible, and doubt- less had clearly in mind the process by which they were brought about. Yet he seems not quite to have succeeded in making his conception drania- tically effective. The strife of Edward with his nobles falls natur- ally into two stages : the struggle of Young Mortimer and his fellows, together with Isabel, against Gaveston, who is supported by the king, and the rebellion of Isabel and Young Mortimer after the death of Gaveston. In the first the king is the culprit — ^in the second, the martyr ; in the first the nobles are just judges — in the second, unjust and cruel executioners. In the first, again, our sjonpathy goes out to the injured queen and the insulted barons. In the second, however, it is quite as inevitably cast with the suffering king. Here is a problem in the degeneration of char- acter that Marlowe appears hardly to have solved with dramatic success. Young Mortimer in the first part of the play is frank, sincere, audacious, high - tempered, reminding us much of Hotspur. In the second he is the queen's lover, a traitor to the king, a crafty dissimulator, a cruel and treacherous murderer. Isabel in the first part resembles Greene's Dorothea. She is in love with the king, and his happiness is her sole concern. Then let him stay ; for rather than my love Shall be oppress'd with civil mutinies, I will endure a melancholy life, And let him frolic with his minion. cviii EDWARD II Or again later — Heavens can witness I love none but you. Is this not like — As if they kill not me, who with him fight ? The accent of truth is too strong to be lightly disregarded. If we turn to the latter part of the play, we find a total change, and Isabel has become Mortimer's paramour and his furtive accompKce in the deed of blood. It is no doubt true that some preparation is made for the transference of Isabel's affection to Mortimer ; ^ but hardly enough, one thinks ; and certainly the transference of affection will not in itself account for the profound differences that we have noted. ^ Here Marlowe's dramatic imagination has failed him. We must not permit this defect in characterization to obscure what is for us the salient feature of ' Ward, English Dramatic Literature, I, 350. 2 With regard to the character of Isabel, Professor McLaughhn says (p. 163 of his edition of Edward II) : " In Marlowe's plan of building up sympathy against the king until the tragedy was pre- pared for, he wished to enlist the audience on the queen's side at first, as a loving and injured wife, then after the reverse action was under way, he aimed to intensify pity for the victim by every device ; and what would create a stronger reaction in his favour than the shamelessness of such a woman as this later Isabel ? So, with this ultimate treatment in mind, and as if to give a clue to what is coming, he tainted her early innocence by slanderous blemishes, which her transformed nature afterward proceeded to verify." Schelling, Chronicle Play, p. 73, says : " This is probably the true solution and may likewise account for the fact that Marlowe has been content to assert rather than to delineate the guilty passion of Mortimer and the queen." Such an explanation might well serve in the case of a dramatist of two hundred years later. One may ask, however, whether it does not represent Marlowe too much in the light of a INTRODUCTION cix Edward II. Marlowe has definitely abandoned the ; principle of the survey ; the list of his omissions, taken by itself, is almost sufficient proof of that fact, and there is abundant confirmatory evidence. He is not content merely to narrate a series of events, but insists, though not always with perfect success, that a given mass of historical material shaU be, as it were, integrated. Each incident shall possess, in addition to its independent and purely theatric interest, a cumulative and hence essentially dramatic value. The catastrophe is no longer a point in time simply, but one in evolution, and to understand it we^ must draw into consideration the entire play. Edward II, by virtue of the reflective genius of its author, passes almost beyond the limits of our definition of the chronicle history, and becomes a tragedy in the full and large sense, something that a chronicle history, whatever its title, could not be.'^ playwright approaching his problem from the point of view of theoretical sesthetics, as Schiller, for instance, might have done. We cannot, of course, prove that Marlowe did not reason thus, and no one will deny that he reflected upon his art long and earnestly. Yet I venture to doubt whether a dramatic problem presented itself to any early Elizabethan dramatist in quite so neatly formulated a fashion. See the note on line 1559 for the true explanation. Here it may be merely remarked that anyone who will read Holinshed's account of the reign of Edward II, and will bear in mind the condi- tions of a developing art as they are shown in the pages above, will find himself prepared to understand at once, {a) the treatment of the character of Isabel ; (b) Marlowe's reticence as to her relations with Mortimer (see note on 1. 448) . In the same way, a study of Holin- shed explains the inconsistencies in the character of Joan of Arc in I Henry VI. ' Obviously because in the typical chronicle history, which ran several threads of action side by side, the element of conflict, in some form essential to tragedy, could be only incidental. ex EDWARD II And so I may be excused for protesting strongly against the frequent depreciation of Marlowe's specifically dramatic talent. He was a great lyric poet, but he was not, be it emphasized, a lyric poet ' gone wrong.' ^ VII In certain fundamental respects wellnigh every play written on a serious subject after Marlowe betrays his influence, for Marlowe, besides establish- ing blank verse as the proper medium of expression for serious drama, created the first tragic character, gave the first display of tragic passion, first invested the catastrophe of human life with tragic dignity. Yet our attention may be called only in passing to these extraordinary achievements, since the chronicle drama was not affected by them in any way pecuUar to itself. Here, as often elsewhere, historical plays merge indistinguishably into the great mass of dramatic productions and take only their individual shares in benefits conferred freely upon all. From our special point of view, which considers the chronicle plays as a measurably independent group, it can hardly perhaps be asserted that his influence, except upon Shakespeare, was either broad or deep. In so far as any play deahng with English history exhibits the fruits even of a not entirely successful attempt to endow a disorderly succession of historical 1 Even on revival to-day the dramatic power of the play is strongly felt. Cf. Keller, Shakespeare Jahrbuch, XL, 374 ; Dametz, Marlowes Edward II und Shakespeares Richard II, 1904. INTRODUCTION cxi episodes with qualities of proportion, emphasis, and coherence, we may say that its writer was in some degree Marlowe's disciple. But such plays are rare. It must be frankly admitted that except for the work of Marlowe and Shakespeare, and except for a play here and a play there, the chronicle history did not engage the attention of the better men in their better moments. What are the best plays of Peele, of Greene,^ of Heywood, of Dekker ? Con- sidered as Elizabethan plays, chronicle histories after 1590-3 ^ are technically less crude than those before. But so are Elizabethan plays in general. After that date they are, taken by and large, on a higher poetic level. So is the drama in general. Characterization improves, writers become more skil- ful with practice, there is a general advance. Other- wise, and considered simply as chronicle histories, we may say that no fundamental changes occur. There are always the exceptions. If we turn, for example, to the old play of Richard II, Part I, otherwise called Thomas of Woodstock,^ we can see very definite traces of Marlowe's influence. Keller had shown that the author of this play was well acquainted both with Edward II * and Henry VI. 1 It is not fair to the argument to call Friar Bacon a chronicle history. See above. ' In so far as we can definitely assign a date. ^ Edited originally by Halliwell, 1870, and again by W. Keller, in the Shakespeare Jahrbuch, XXXV, 42 ff. * Some of the more important of the reminiscences of Edward II are given in the explanatory notes below. They have to do, as is natural, with the earlier part of Edward II, since the author of the Richard, did not deal with that prince's deposition and death. cxii EDWARD II It particularly interests us, however, that his handling of material is elevated noticeably above the usual level of the chronicle history, and shows distinctly a desire on his part really to unify his action. Of course, he manipulates his facts with very great freedom, and he presents no carefully accurate record of historical events. Yet, though he seems often to have trusted his memory instead of referring to his sources, his deviations from the chronicle are by no means aimless. He was chiefly concerned to present a series of related happenings, showing how Richard's character and his subjection to his flattering favourites brought about ill effects to the kingdom. No doubt he has not accomplished this design as successfully as did Marlowe, but the admission means simply that after all he had not Marlowe's genius. If the personality of Thomas of Woodstock ^ attracted him so strongly that he is not everywhere himself quite certain whether Rich- ard or Thomas is his principal figure, yet the fate of Woodstock is an essential part of the theme the playwright chose, and the structural defects of the play do not have their origin in any dramatization of disconnected episodes, but in the author's in- ability to withstand the incidental temptations of his subject. Historical events are- rearranged in order to present an action having definitely a beginning, a middle, and an end — ^in other words, in order to display the process by which there is 1 Gloucester of the Henry VI plays is the prototype. See Keller, U.S. INTRODUCTION cxiii attained a state either of quiescence or stable equilibrium on the part of conflicting forces. It is, then, a plot, not merely a survey of a given period, that the author had in mind, and though at times he appears hesitant or uncertain in his execution, such defects should not be unduly emphasized. The great exception is, of course, Shakespeare, and it is a commonplace statement enough that Marlowe was one of the great formative influences in his development.^ Richard III bears the strongest marks of having been written on the model furnished by Marlowe, and the degree to which the interest was concentrated upon the character of Richard and the extraordinary superiority which he displays to the other characters, are a reflection of the method employed in Tamhurlaine. It is, however, a some- what different point of view in which we may for the moment consider the matter. Marlowe's interest, as has already been suggested, lay in dramatic character, and he endeavoured to interpret history through the characters of the persons that, as it seemed to him, made it. The like is true of Shakespeare. It is indeed because he gives us vivid and dramatically intelligible characteriza- tions of historical persons that we talk at all about Shakespeare's ' interpretation of history.' Does anyone continue to believe that a profound social and political philosophy was embodied by Shake- speare in his chronicle plays ? To say that he * The reader will at once perceive that no detailed discussion of this topic can even be attempted in these pages. H cxiv EDWARD II interpreted history is simply to say that he con- verted historical abstractions into living human beings ; he did not anticipate Burke, and he was no evolutionist before evolution. For him history was a series of inexplicable catastrophic processes, except in so far as the motives and the characters of particular men shed a dim and wavering light over the turbulent stream of human life. So far, he and Marlowe were at one. Nevertheless, a significant difference may be observed. If Marlowe's interest was in the por- trayal of character, it was in the portrayal of one aspect of character that his supreme interest lay. Not so much the human being as an intellectual or reasoning entity, but the human being as a centre of energetic action occupied him chiefly. Not the intellect and the reason, but the will and the passions were his preferred objects of contemplation. Is that quite true of Shakespeare at the outset of his dramatic career ? In comedy, for example, as in Love's Labour's Lost, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Comedy of Errors, wit, word-play, ingenuity of plot, together with beauty of style and brilliance of fancy, furnish out the piece. In Titus Andronicus we sup full of horrors, but the drama is merely the tour deforce of a clever youth who does not realize that he is playing with fire. Compare once more Gloucester and Tamburlaine. In the latter we see passionate aspiration, sublime confidence, and in- domitable will, but we see nothing of the great intellectual powers demanded by his remarkable INTRODUCTION cxv career.^ How far would Napoleon's confidence in his star have carried him, unassisted by his extra- ordinary intellectual gifts ? It is not Tamburlaine as a thinking but as a feeling human being that we have before us. In Richard III, on the contrary, the intellectual superiority of Richard to the other characters is what marks him out as their natural lord and ruler. May not then the suggestion be made, though made with all due hesitancy, that Shakespeare, possibly earlier than would otherwise have been the case, was led through the influence of Marlowe to import into his characters the element of passion ? For when we turn to Richard II, we find that he combines the two elements that in Richard III exist mainly in independence of each other. Gloucester embodies intellectual force, but passionate feehng finds its expression in the Ijn-ical outbursts of emotion on the part of Margaret, Elizabeth, and Gloucester's mother. In Richard II both elements of character are fused in the same person. Richard thinks, but he feels as well, and this interpenetration of thought and feeling is in all of Shakespeare's later plays, tragedies as well as comedies, one of the distinctive marks of his genius. It is an obvious corollary of what has just been said that Shakespeare arranged his material with a view to bringing out character, and in so far as he did so was clearly influenced by Marlowe in regard to the structure of the plot. At the '^ The real Tamburlaine owed his success to just those qualities Marlowe's lacks. See the account of him in Lavisse-Rambaud. cxvi EDWARD II same time, certain other forces must be taken into account. We must, for instance, make allowance for the operation of a force which has been already briefly considered. The nature of the material itself to some extent determines the method of handling it. In the case of Richard III there had grown up in the course of the preceding century what may be called a Richard legend. According to this legend Richard conceived early the design of seizing the crown for himself, manipulated events with a view to that end, committed certain murders for that definite purpose, accomplished his aim, and from the pinnacle of glory was hurled headlong by the hand of God. In other words, a certain series of historical facts had in the course of time acquired in the popular mind some- thing of that inner sequence and connection which is implied in the term 'plot.' Whoever dramatized the story of Richard could not escape presenting it at least rudely in some such form, as is to be seen both in the Richardus Tertius and in the old True Tragedy of Richard III. That neither Dr. Legge nor the other playwright fully comprehended the importance of this element in the material both employed is equally clear, and accordingly they introduced scenes that had Httle to do with the direct advance of the plot, or encumbered their dialogue with crude summaries of events which they found it difficult actually to stage. Such faults Shakespeare of course avoided in the main. There are passages in Richard III which may be omitted INTRODUCTION cxvii without injury to dramatic action or to narrative continuity, but the total impression produced by the play, and especially by the first three acts, is that of reasonably close logical sequence. It was the native dramatic genius of Shakespeare, educated through the agency of Marlowe, that achieved this result in co-operation with the material itself. Perhaps in association with, and certainly under the influence of Marlowe, Shakespeare had engaged in the dramatiza- tion of English history ; he had seen Marlowe, in Edward II, select and compress the events of eighteen years into the form of a logically constructed drama ; and he was dealing with material which had to a certain extent already acquired the character of a plot. We should not find it necessary to trace in detail the further dramatic development of Shake- speare in order to realize how in the fuUness of time he came to write those superbly constructed plays, the two parts of Henry IV, de quibus silentium hreviloquio frceferendum puto. Yet the splendid examples of Marlowe and Shake- speare failed to bring about any corresponding structural advancement among chronicle dramatists at large. The play of Edward III is in the main simply a dramatized fragment of military narrative. No particular struggle is exhibited except merely the physical struggle involved in military conflict. The last three acts of the play are taken up almost entirely with a naval battle, the battles of Cressy and Poitiers, the capture of Calais, and the spectacular scene in which Edward receives the submission of the cxviii EDWARD II kings of France and Scotland. The course of action is precisely what we have in any two or three acts of Tamburlaine, selected at random. Moreover, a part of the first act and the whole of the second are taken up with the episode of King Edward and the Countess of Salisbury, which though conducted with remarkable skill on the part of the poet, is not in any way a part of the theme that occupies him elsewhere. Thus the work, structurally considered, takes us back to the earliest period in the history of the chronicle play. Much the same thing, and from the same point of view, is to be said of a number of so-called biographi- cal plays that stand on the outskirts of the chronicle history. In these the source of material is less likely to be the chronicle itself than a brief biography or scattered bits of anecdotic material, and the interest is in the life of the man rather than in the important incidents with which he was concerned. Thus The True Chronicle History of the whole Life and Death of Thomas Lord Cromwell is not based upon a chronicle but upon Fox's Book of Martyrs. It contains also a bit of material extracted from Roper's Life of Sir Thomas More, and is in general nothing but a string of dramatized anecdotes. Obviously the important political aspects of the hero's life could not be put upon the stage by an Elizabethan play- wright, and consequently the writer was compelled to restrict himself to a few fag ends of Cromwellian biography. Thus we are given a scene from Crom- well's early life in which his aspiring mind foresees his INTRODUCTION cxix own greatness, and a scene or two dealing with his travels on the Continent, in which he manages to save a nobleman's life, rescue an impoverished debtor, and receive alms at the hands of a charitable Florentine merchant. Then he returns to England, where the penetrating eye of Cardinal Wolsey lights upon him, and through the intuition of genius discerns the inner nature of the man. Thus Cromwell rises to high power, but at the end, after having exhibited in various ways his piety and his gener- osity, he falls a victim to the machinations of the villainous Gardiner. No more closely knit is the plot of Sir Thomas More, in regard to which we have excellent means of information as to the way in which the dramatist was hampered in his work. The original manuscript still exists, and we are able to note the criticisms passed both upon the choice of material and upon the manner of treatment by the licenser of plays, who struck out mercilessly whatever might possibly have dangerous political bearing. It is significant that in the play itself we are not told why Sir Thomas More was executed. We are told, to be sure, that he refused to sign certain articles at the king's behest, but we are not told what those articles contained, nor what were the grounds on which Sir Thomas refused to sign them.i The writer puts in as much serious history * No doubt, however, there were few in the audience who could not make a shrewd guess at both these points, provided the play was ever actually put upon the stage, for we do not know that it was presented. It is, indeed, quite probable that the play was given up because of the objections of Sir Edmund Tylney. cxx EDWARD II as he dares, but is compelled to fill out his play with anecdotic fragments taken, most of them, from the various lives of More accessible to him. We need not dwell on either of these dramas longer, nor need we consider The Famous History of the Life and Death of Captain Thomas Stukeley, which likewise did not employ strictly chronicle material at all, though it was material that would undoubtedly have been incorporated in the chronicle had it lain sufficiently far back in time. The general method of these biographical plays is precisely that of the Digby Mary Magdalen, and needs at this point no further discussion. One other play of this type may, however, be momentarily touched upon. The True and Honorable History of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, of which we possess only the first part, is better con- structed than either Cromwell or More, but we cannot well believe that this result was due to any higher structural aim on the part of the four men concerned in its composition. They selected as their principal subject not the life of Sir John Oldcastle, but rather the attempt on the part of the Church to coerce him into conformity with the State religion, his valiant attempt to escape the clutches of the clergy, and presumably his ultimate martjnrdom. This theme was very loosely developed, but of its own nature it afforded a more connected story than was the case in the other plays, and so the drama itself is distinctly less fragmentary. Political con- siderations did not shiver the narrative into so many bits. INTRODUCTION cxxi VIII The seeds of the decline of the chronicle history- were sown during the period of its florescence. Primarily must be realized the extraordinary number of these plays written during the ten years when the vogue was at its height. If Heywood's statement is correct/ and the evidence procurable seems fully to substantiate it, all of English history, from the landing of Brute down to the spacious times of great EUzabeth, had been presented upon the boards of the London theatres. Some periods were subjected to repeated dramatizations, and were treated from all points of view. Henry VIIFs reign furnished the material of More, Cromwell, When You See Me, Henry VIII, Cardinal Wolsey ^ (more than once refashioned). King John's reign is the subject of The Troublesome Raigne, King John, Robert Earl of Huntington, King John and Matilda,^ Look About You. Of the numerous dramatizations of the Richard III material it is not necessary to speak at length.* There seems to have been a practical exhaustion of material. Had there been no con- 1 Apology, already quoted, p. liii. ' Non-extant. ' Strictly speaking, somewhat later than the period that we are discussing. Written by Davenport, and published in his Works, ed. BuUen, 1890. (Old English Plays, New Series III.) Most of the plays here mentioned have been already referred to. * Compare Schelling, Chronicle Play, 77 : " In short we have in existence or on record a corpus of at least twenty dramas busy with the various events and persons which the tetralogy of the three plays on Henry VI. and Richard III. sought to cover." cxxii EDWARD II tributory causes, satiety alone would almost account for the decline in favour of this form of drama. ^ Contributory causes, however, there were. The very facility with which this material could be handled and the eagerness of the public for it attracted the poorest playwrights. Jack Straw, The True Tragedy of Richard III, The Famous Victories of Henry V, these dramas represent depths as low, artistically speaking, as any to which our stage has descended. Unable, doubtless, to make their plays successful as the result of talent, writers were often compelled to resort to other means, and to give a freshness to their much-used subject-matter by treating it after the manner of other dramatic fads. But this point has already been sufficiently discussed. Foreign influences, moreover, are to be reckoned with ; not so much perhaps the direct influence of • If we look at Henslowe's Diary, we find that between 1594 and 1600 he produced twenty-four or twenty-five chronicle histories that have not come down to us. Nor can it be thought that this number will cover all the non-extant plays with which he had to do. A chronicle history may lie concealed behind a title that gives no inkling of its true character. If we did not have the play of Look About You, the title would give us no hint as to the subject-matter, and the same is to be said of other plays. Furthermore, it is not certain that the whole of Henslowe's theatrical activities is recorded in his diary, to say nothing of the fact that the Admiral's Men did not of course enjoy a monopoly of these plays. Moreover, cf. the prologue to Heywood's Royal King and Loyal Subject : Nay, 'tis known That when our chronicles have barren grown Of story, we have all invention stretch'd, Div'd low as to the centre, and then reach'd Unto the pyimum mobile above : Nor 'scaped things intermediate. INTRODUCTION cxxiii foreign dramas upon English, though doubtless something of the sort is to be taken into considera- tion,^ but rather the widening of the English intellectual horizon through intercourse with other nations and contact with other literatures. This went on with startling rapidity during the latter part of the sixteenth century, and the response to it on the part of the drama was direct and immediate. Foreign subjects, and particularly Italian plots, began to crowd out those of English and national character. The drama was becoming, as regards subject-matter, ' Italianate.' Contemporary life, too, demanded its share of attention, and grew jealous of the public's moment- ary absorption in the old, forgotten, far-off things, and battles long ago. If the drama is to hold the mirror up to nature, too much of its emphasis must not be laid upon a bygone stage of national life. At any rate, a new generation of playwrights had sprung up. Marlowe, Greene, Peele were no longer names to conjure with, had passed into subjects of occasional jest. Their successors were men of differ- ent character, if not more learned, at any rate more masters of their learning. New modes of expres- sion became necessary ; the old had served their time. Though the chronicle history lent itself not infrequently to the purposes of satire as well as to those of the realistic comedy of manners, it did so with a manifest reluctance. The inconsistencies of > See prologue to Heywood's A Challenge for Beauty. cxxiv EDWARD II these plays were too glaring, their anachronisms too gross and palpable, to have enabled them to retain the favour of those spectators that pretended to any faculty of taste or judgment. No doubt the aesthetic standards of the time were neither in great measure high nor enduring, and were largely an affectation. Yet, affectation or not, they served the purpose, and assisted in the decline of the chronicle history. Your foreign traveller and Italianate Englishman, your stay-at-home mimic, Italianate at second-hand, your judicious and your injudicious pedant, your classicist and your contemner of the unities, though each based- his opposition on different grounds, were in unison on this point. It was these inchoate historical plays that Jonson had partly in mind when writing the prologue to Every Man in his Humour, when the popularity of the chronicle history was at its height.^ A similar, even a more contemptuous attitude is assumed in the induction to the Knight of the Burning Pestle, composed a decade later. Small inducement was there for a playwright to attempt the chronicle history, unless he cared little for the approval of the learned. Accordingly the men of talent of the new generation rejected it almost wholly.^ ' On the assumption that this prologue was written for the first production of the play. =' I do not mean, of course, that material drawn from the chroni- cles was no longer utilized by dramatists. Such plays as Cymbeline, Bonduca, and even The Mayor of Queenborough, however, are not chronicle histories, and hence do not come within our field. They are romantic dramas or historical dramas, or what you will, but not chronicle histories, and represent a later conception in the drama INTRODUCTION cxxv The strife between the Puritans and the stage forms an element that must not be left out of con- sideration, though only a brief account of it may here be given. The first reference to historical plays as such seems to have occurred in the Play of Plays. ^ In it there was, as Prynne tells us, a defence of histories on about the same grounds that Heywood employed in the Apology. " These dramas have," said Lodge in substance, " a didactic function, and instruct the people in the history of the world." Gosson replied in Plays Confuted in Five Actions,^ that, since these historical plays did not stick to the truth, they instructed the people in false history Heywood took up the defence of histories, and was attacked by one I. G. in ^4 Refutation of the Apology for Actors. The whole controversy was summed up by Prynne in the Histriomastix.^ Prynne excepts against ' histories,' though he does not specify chronicle histories, on the following grounds : (a) Play-poets mangle, falsify, if not obscure history with many additional circumstances and poetical fictions ; they do not therefore explain. of the time. So slight are their affiliations with that branch of the drama that they are to be looked upon simply as showing how the romantic drama occasionally made use of historical material. The scene in which their action goes on is not properly England, but ' No-Man's Land,' the land of Philaster and of The Maid's Tragedy. Had they been looked upon at the time as in any way a continuation of the true historical drama. Ford could not have written the prologue quoted a few pages below. ' See above, p. xxxvii. « 1581-2. Cf. Collier, II, 197. ' pp. 940-1 ; an earlier reference, 789. cxxvi EDWARD II but sophisticate and deform good histories with many false varnishes and playhouse fooleries, (b) These histories are more accurately expressed, more truly learned, in the original authors than in deriva- tive playhouse pamphlets, which corrupt all circum- stances that are truly registered in the story, which are either omitted or altered in the play, (c) Grant my opponent's argument, then we might just as well destroy our historical works as so much waste paper, and rely on plays entirely, (d) Grant the argu- ment, yet the truth in these histories will be much sooner forgotten by the spectators than what is false. Aside, however, from this special opposition to the historical play, the general attitude of the Puritans toward the stage reacted upon that particular form of the drama. As Puritan opinions among the people grew in strength, the theatre became less and less a popular institution. Always opposed to the stage, the Puritans were stimulated in their opposi- tion by their contest with the court, which had always favoured the theatre, and to which the theatre began more and more to look for aid. From a distinctly popular institution the stage became in general a semi-aristocratic one. The party of the court, however, took no special interest in English history, and was perhaps the least national of all English factions. James was a Scotchman and had Scotch favourites. He was fond of the spectacular and he set the fashion. It was in his reign that the masque began to develop elaborately and to have a con- INTRODUCTION cxxvii siderable influence upon the stage. In line with forces of this character, the drama, in so far as it was not occupied with satirical pictures of contem- porary life, began to assume that ultra-romantic tone associated with the names of Beaumont and Fletcher, and of Ford. Underneath all lay the decline in national spirit. Internal dissensions were once more rife. Much as in the reign of Henry VIII, the country was divided among Catholics, Puritans, and the large body of adherents to the State Church. From the point of view of the stage these dissensions finally ended in the closing of the theatres, but from a social and political standpoint they meant infinitely more. What must have been the character of a time in which Cecil, the son of Burleigh, could accept pensions alike from France and Spain ! ^ What must have been the character of a period in which Raleigh, as it were the type of the Elizabethans, was imprisoned, beheaded, thought to be a Spanish dependent, when he had indignantly refused the pension that Cecil accepted only to defraud his new em- ployers ! ^ All of these influences naturally affected the chronicle history, for that was a dramatic species dependent for its popularity upon a nice adjustment of popular sentiments and ideas, upon the main- tenance of an exact equilibrium between opposing social and intellectual forces. To one state of the * See Gardiner, I, 215-16. * Gardiner's account of Raleigh's trial, I, 117-38. cxxviii EDWARD II popular mind it owed its appearance, to another its decline after a short period of exuberant life. It flourished, in other words, during a period of national repose, when one set of disturbing influences was exhausted, another not yet in full vigour. Like the ballad, it depended for its development upon the existence among the people of a certain homo- geneity of thought and sentiment, upon the cessation of which it likewise decayed. Its extinction, however, appears to have been gradual, and was probably consummated only by the closing of the theatres in 1642. There seems to have been a class, doubtless the bourgeoisie and the 'prentices satirized in the Knight of the Burning Pestle, with whom the chronicle history did not go entirely out of fashion. The Stationers' Register, indeed, records publications of dramas of this kind as late as 1697. Perhaps the Elizabethans realized that in the decay of this characteristic form of their drama they were losing something of value and interest. At any rate, Ford, in the prologue to Perkin Warbeck, printed in 1634, makes an appeal for the revival of English historical tragic writing, and the passage is worth quoting at length, as it illustrates admirably the remarks of the last few pages. Studies have, of this nature, been of late, So out of fashion, so unfollowed, that It is become more justice, to revive The antic foUies of the times, than strive To countenance wise industry ; no want INTRODUCTION cxxix Of art doth render wit, or lame, or scant. Or slothful, in the purchase of fresh bays ; But want of truth in them, who give the praise To their self-love, presuming to out-do The writer, or (for need) the actors too. But such the author's silence best befits. Who bids them be in love with their own wits. From him, to clearer judgments, we can say He shows a History, couch'd in a play : A history of noble mention, known. Famous, and true ; most noble, 'cause our own ; Not forged from Italy, from France, from Spain, But chronicled at home ; as rich in strain Of brave attempts, as ever fertile rage. In action, could beget to grace the stage. We cannot limit scenes, for the whole land Itself appear'd too narrow to withstand Competitors for kingdoms ; nor is here Unnecessary mirth forced, to endear A multitude : on these two rests the fate Of worthy expectation. Truth and State. Here are touched upon many of the causes that led to the decline of the chronicle history. First, the rage for the satirical drama of manners, that revived "the antic folhes of the times." Next, the fashionable fondness for foreign subject-matter, " forged from Italy, from France, from Spain," the disdain of homespun English topics. Then, the pedantic dislike of a drama that " cannot limit scenes," and that mixes unnecessary mirth with tragic subject-matter. It is interesting also to note Ford's appeal to the patriotism of his audience — " Most noble, 'cause our own," not foreign, but " chronicled at home." And it will be observed that he attempts to create an interest in his play by the old methods of the earliest chronicle history cxxx EDWARD II writers — ^his play is " known, famous, and true." In a sense this passage defines the chronicle history, and accounts for its decline in popular favour. The troublesome raigne and lamentable death of Edward the second, King of England : with the tragicall fall of proud Mortimer : As it was sundrie times publiquely acted in the honoftrable citie of London, by the right honourable the Earle of Pem- brooke his seruants. Written by Chri. Marlow Gent. Imprinted at London for William lones, dwelling neere Holbourne conduit, at the signe of the Gunne. 1594. NOTE ON THE TEXT This edition is printed from the edition of 1594 of Edward II, and all of the few changes made are mentioned in the foot- notes, except that as regards punctuation a compromise has been adopted between the erratic pointing of the original and the present practice, the intent being merely to make the text readily intelligible without giving it in this respect a completely modern aspect. The spelUng and capitaliza- tion of the original are retained, and also the division into lines except in certain specified cases. The stage directions are those of the quarto, with such bracketed additions as seem necessary. The following texts have been collated : Quarto (i) • 1594 • . I Quarto (2) . 1598 . . 2 Quarto (3) . 1612 . • 3 Quarto (4) . 1622 . • 4 Dodsley ■ 1744 • . D Dodsley . 1780 . . Di Ancient British Drama . . . 1810 . . s Oxberry . 1818 . . Dodsley . 1825 . . D, Robinson . . . 1826 . . R Dyce . 1550 . . D3 Dyce . 1858 . • D4 Cunningham . 1870 . . C Wagner . 1870 . . w Keltie . 1870 . . K Fleay • 1877 . . F BuUen . 1885 . . B EDWARD II Ellis . . 1887 . . E Tancock 1887 . . T Pinkerton . . 1889 . . P McLaughlin . . 1894 . . M Verity 1896 . . V Brooke . . 1910 . . Br In addition to these I have also with Dr. Brooke's per- mission given from his edition the readings of the South Kensington MS. fragment of the first seventy lines, which he believes to represent an edition of 1593.* This fragment is marked ' X.' The variant readings are selected. Most misprints have been omitted, except when occurring in the quartos. Varia- tions of spelling have been neglected, and also differences in punctuation, except in a few cases, where the meaning of the text was affected. Conjectural readings are omitted from the footnotes, but a number of them are given among the explanatory notes at the end of the play. Further- more, the following classes of variant readings have also been omitted, namely, such differences as between intreat and entreat, Penbrooke and Pembroke, offered and off'red, murder and murther, stroke and struck, desert and desart, renown'd, renowned, and renowned (except in a few cases), Bartley and Berkeley. No collation is given of the stage directions, except as regards the quartos. Otherwise, this edition aims to give all important variant readings, but the editor does not for a moment suppose that no errors have been committed. * Since writing the above I have been able to examine this MS. for myself. [DRAMATIS PERSONyE Edward II, later deposed. Prince Edward, his son, later Edward III. Kent, brother to Edward II. Lancaster. Warwick. Pembroke. Arundell. Leicester. Mortimer Senior. Mortimer Junior, his nephew. Piers Gaveston. Spencer Senior. Spencer Junior, his son. Archbishop of Canterbury, referred to as Bishop of Canterbury. Bishop of Winchester. Bishop of Coventry. Bishop [of Hereford ?]. Berkeley. Baldock. Sir John of Hainault. Trussel, Gumey. Matrevis. Lightborn. Rice ap Howell. Levune. Abbot. James. Beaumont, EDWARD II Three Poof Men, Horseboy, Champion, Mower, Herald, Mayor of Bristol, Lords, Monks, Citizens of Bristol, Messengers, Soldiers, Attendants. Queen Isabella. King Edward's Niece, Daughter to Duke of Gloucester, referred to as Lady. Ladies.] The troublesome raigne and lamentable death 20 EDWARD II In steede of inke, ile write it with my teares. 380 [Subscribes.] Mor. iu. The king is loue-sick for his minion. Edw. Tis done, and now, accursed hand, fall off. Lan. Giue it me, ile haue it published in the streetes. Bg Mor. iu. lie see him presently dispatched away. Bish. Now is my heart at ease. Warm. And so is mine. 385 Penb. This will be good newes to the common sort. Mor. se. Be it or no, he shall not linger here. Exeunt Mobiles. Edw. How fast they run to banish him I loue. They would not stir, were it to do me good. Why should a king be subiect to a priest ? 390 Proud Rome, that hatchest such imperiall groomes, For these thy superstitious taperlights. Wherewith thy antichristian churches blaze, lie fire thy erased buildings, and enforce The papall towers to kisse the lowlie ground. 395 With slaughtered priests may Tibers channell swell. And bankes raisd higher with their sepulchers. As for the peeres that backe the cleargie thus. If I be king, not one of them shall liue. [Re-]Enter Gaueston. Gau. My lord, I heare it whispered euery where 400 That I am banishd, and must file the land. Edw. Tis true, sweete Gaueston, oh, were it false. The Legate of the Pope will haue it so, And thou must hence, or I shall be deposd. But I will raigne to be reueng'd of them, 405 And therefore, sweete friend, take it patiently. 383Gi'e'tF. 387 s. d. Nobles 3— F. 392 For] With D O R—K P M 395 The] Thy D—R K 396 may] make JDOif — W F—Br. 397 raise DD-^OD^R; rise SCFP. 402 were it were it 34 D^ S D^- 405 of] on DO R EDWARD II 21 Liue where thou wilt, ile send thee gould enough ; And long thou shalt not stay ; or, if thou doost, lie come to thee ; my loue shall neare decline. Gaue. Is all my hope turnd to this hell of greefe ? 410 Edw. Rend not my hart with thy too piercing words : Thou from this land, I from my selfe am banisht. C^ Gau. To go from hence greeues not poore Gaueston, But to forsake you, in whose gratious lookes The blessednes of Gaueston remaines, 4^5 For no where else seekes he felicitie. Edw. And onely this torments my wretched soule, That, whether I will or no, thou must depart. Be gouernour of Ireland in my stead, And there abide till fortune call thee home. 420 Here take my picture, and let me weare thine. might I keepe thee heere, as I doe this, Happie were I, but now most miserable. Gauest. Tis something to be pitied of a king. Edw. Thou shalt not hence, ile hide thee, Gaueston. 425 Gau. I shal be found, and then twil greeue me more. Edwa. Kinde wordes and mutuall talke makes our greefe greater. Therefore with dum imbracement let vs part. Stay, Gaueston, I cannot leaue thee thus. Gau. For euery looke, my lord drops downe a teare. 430 Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow. Edwa. The time is little that thou hast to stay. And therefore giue me leaue to looke my fill. But come, sweete friend, ile beare thee on thy way. Gau. The peeres will frowne. 435 Edw. I passe not for their anger, come, lets go. 0, that we might as well returne as goe. Enter Edmund and Queen Isabell. Qu. Whether goes my lord ? 418 whe'er F. 427 make KM. 430 lord] love D D^S D^ R DtCW KEP; comma after lord D^FTMV. 434 beate misp. 3. 438 Whi'er F. 22 EDWARD II Edw. Fawne not on me, French strumpet, get thee gone. Qu. On whom but on my husband should I fawne ? 440 Gau. On Mortimer, with whom, vngentle Queene, — C, I say no more, iudge you the rest, my lord. Qu. In saying this, thou wrongst me, Gaueston. 1st not enough, that thou corrupts my lord. And art a bawd to his affections, 445 But thou must call mine honor thus in question ? Gau. I meane not so, your grace must pardon me. Edw. Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer, And by thy meanes is Gaueston exilde. But I would wish thee reconcile the lords, 450 Or thou shalt nere be reconcild to me. Qu. Your highnes knowes it lies not in my power. Edw. Away then, touch me not ; come, Gaueston. Qu. Villaine, tis thou that robsttoe of my lord. Gau. Madam, tis you that rob me of my lord. 455 Edw. Speake not vnto her, let her droope and pine. Qu. Wherein, my lord, haue I deserud these words ? Witnesse the teares that Isabella sheds, Witnesse this hart, that sighing for thee breakes. How deare my lord is to poore Isahell. 460 Edw. And witnesse heauen how deere thou art to me. There weepe, for till my Gaueston be repeald. Assure thy selfe thou comst not in my sight. Exeunt Edward and Gaueston. Qu. O miserable and distressed Queene ! Would, when I left sweet France and was imbarkt, 465 That charming Circes, walking on the wanes. Had chaungd my shape, or at the mariage day The cup of Hymen had beepe full of poyson, Or with those armes that twind about my neck, I had beene stifled, and not lined to see 470 The king my lord thus to abandon me. 444 corrupt'st D — V. 448 Th'art F. 455 thou O ; robb'st O ; robs S. 466 Circe B— V. 467 at] that 34 ORCW P. EDWARD II 23 Like frantick luno will I fill the earth With gastlie murmure of my sighes and cries, C3 For neuer doted loue on Ganimed, So much as he on cursed Gaueston. 475 But that will more exasperate his wrath. I must entreat him, I must speake him faire. And be a meanes to call home Gaueston. And yet heele euer dote on Gaueston, And so am I for euer miserable. 4^° [Re-IEnter the Nobles to the Queene. Lane. Looke where the sister of the king of Fraunce Sits wringing of her hands, and beats her brest. Warm. The king I feare hath ill intreated her. Pen. Hard is the hart that iniures such a saint. Mor. iu. I know tis long of Gaueston she weepes. 485 Mor. se. Why ? he is gone. Mor. iu. Madam, how fares your grace ? Qu. Ah, Mortimer ! now breaks the kings hate forth, And he confesseth that he loues me not. Mor. iu. Cry quittance. Madam, then, & loue not him. Qu. No, rather will I die a thousand deaths, 490 And yet I loue in vaine : heele nere loue me. Lan. Feare ye not. Madam, now his minions gone. His wanton humor will be quicklie left. Qu. 0, neuer, Lancaster ! I am inioynde To sue vnto you all for his repeale ; 495 This wils my lord, and this must I performe. Or else be banisht from his highnesse presence. Lan. For his repeale ! Madam, he comes not back, Vnlesse the sea cast vp his shipwrack body. War. And to behold so sweete a sight as that, 500 Theres none here but would run his horse to death. Mor. iu. But, madam, would you haue vs cal him home ? 476-9 om. O. 483 ill-treated D^—R. 484 iniiiries 2 FBEV. 492 you Dg. 495 vnto] upon CFBEPV. 499 shipwrackt 234 Dj/ shipwreck'd D—R D^—V. 24 EDWARD II Qu. I, Mortimer, for till he be restorde, The angrie king hath banished me the court : C4 And therefore as thou louest and tendrest me, 505 Be thou my aduocate vnto these peeres. Mor. iu. What, would ye haue me plead for Gaueston ? Mor. se. Plead for him he that will, I am resolude. Lan. And so am I, my lord, diswade the Queene. Qu. O Lancaster, let him diswade the king, 510 For tis against my will he should returne. War. Then speake not for him, let the pesant go. Qu. Tis for my selfe I speake, and not for him. Pen. No speaking will preuaile, and therefore cease. Mor. iu. Faire Queene, forbeare to angle for the fish, 515 Which, being caught, strikes him that takes it dead : I meane that vile Torpedo, Gaueston, . That now, I hope, fiotes on the Irish seas. Qu. Sweete Mortimer, sit downe by me a while, And I will tell thee reasons of such waighte, 520 As thou wilt soone subscribe to his repeale. Mor. iu. It is impossible, but speake your minde. Qu. Then thus, — but none shal heare it but our selues. [She draws Mortimer aside.] Lane. My Lords, albeit the Queen winne Mortimer, Will you be resolute and hold with me ? 525 Mor. se. Not I against my nephew. Pen. Feare not, the queens words cannot alter him. War. No ? doe but marke how earnestly' she pleads. Lan. And see how coldly his lookes make deniall. War. She smiles : now for my life his mind is changd.- 530 Lane. He rather loose his friendship, I, then graunt. Mor. iu. Well, of necessitie it must be so. — My Lords, that I abhorre base Gaueston I hope your honors make no question, 505 lov'st4— F; tender'st Z)— iff B—V. 506 vnto] upon CP ; these] the CF. 507 you 2—V. 508 he om. 234 D O R—V. 526 W ass. to Y. Mor. 531 I] ay D. EDWARD II 25 And therefore, though I pleade for his repeall, 535 Tis not for his sake, but for our auaile : Nay, for the realms behoof e and for the kings. C5 Lane. Fie, Mortimer, dishonor not thy selfe. Can this be true, twas good to banish him ? And is this true, to call him home againe ? 540 Such reasons make white blacke, and darke night day. Mor. iu. My Lord of Lancaster, marke the respect. Lan. In no respect can contraries be true. Qu. Yet, good my lord, heare what he can alledge. War. All that he speakes, is nothing, we are resolu'd. 545 Mor. iu. Do you not wish that Gaueston were dead ? Pen. I would he were. Mor. iu. Why then, my lord, giue me but leaue to speak. Mor. se. But, nephew, do not play the sophister. Mor. iu. This which I vrge, is of a burning zeale 550 To mend the king, and do our countrie good : Know you not Gaueston hath store of golde. Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends As he will front the mightiest of vs all ? And whereas he shall hue and be beloude, 555 Tis hard for vs to worke his ouerthrow. War. Marke you but that, my lord of Lancaster. Mor. iu. But were he here, detested as he is. How easilie might some base slaue be subbornd To greet his lordship with a poniard, 560 And none so much as blame the murtherer, But rather praise him for that braue attempt. And in the Chronicle enrowle his name For purging of the realme of such a plague. Pen. He saith true. 5^5 Lan. I, but how chance this was not done before ? Mor. iu. Because, my lords, it was not thought vpon. Nay more, when he shall know it lies in vs To banish him, and then to call him home, 545 we're F. 559 eas'ly W C P. 561 murther 34. 565 sayeth F. 26 EDWARD II Twill make him vaile the topflag of his pride, Cg 570 And feare to offend the meanest noble man. Mor. se. But how if he do not, Nephew ? Mor. iu. Then may we with some colour rise in armes ; For, howsoeuer we haue borne it out, Tis treason to be vp against the king. 575 So shall we haue the people of our side, Which for his fathers sake leane to the king. But cannot brooke a night growne mushrump. Such a one as my Lord of Cornewall is. Should beare vs downe of the nobilitie. 580 And when the commons and the nobles ioyne, Tis not the king can buckler GflMestow. Weele pull him from the strongest hould he hath. My lords, if to performe this I be slack, Thinke me as base a groome as Gaueston. 585 Lan. On that condition Lancaster will graunt. War. And so will Penbrooke and I. Mor. se. And L Mor. m. In this I count me highly gratified. And Mortimer will rest at your commaund. Qii. And when this fauour Isahell forgets, 590 Then let her hue abandond and forlorne. But see, in happie time, my lord the king, Hauing brought the Earle of Cornewall on his way. Is new returnd ; this newes will glad him much. Yet not so much as me ; I loue him more 595 Then he can Gaueston ; would he lou'd me But halfe so much : then were I treble blest. ' [Re-]Enter king Edward moorning. Edw. Hees gone, and for his absence thus I moorne. 571 t'offend F. 576 of] o-n^^DD^SOD^RK; we shaU C H^ F B £ P. 578 mushroom DOD^RD^CWK B—V. 587 And so will Penbrooke E V assign to Pern. ; And 1 E V assign to War. 593 Ha'ing F. 594 new] news misp. 34. 596 love B E V EDWARD II 27 Did neuer sorrow go so neere my heart As dooth the want of my sweete Gaueston, C, 600 And could my crownes reuenew bring him back, I would freelie giue it to his enemies, And thinke I gaind, hauing bought so deare a friend. Qu. Harke, how he harpes vpon his minion. Edw. My heart is as an anuill vnto sorrow, 605 Which beates vpon it like the Cyclops hammers. And with the noise turnes vp my giddie braine. And makes me frantick for my Gaueston. Ah, had some bloudlesse furie rose from hell, And with my kinglie scepter stroke me dead, 6iq When I was forst to leaue my Gaueston. Lan. Diablo, what passions call you these ? Qu. My gratious lord, I come to bring you newes. Edw. That you haue parled with your Mortimer. Qu. That Gaueston, my Lord, shalbe repeald. 615 Edw. Repeald, the newes is too sweet to be true. Qu. But will you loue me, if you finde it so ? Edw. If it be so, what will not Edward do ? Qu. For Gaueston, but not for Isahell. Edw. For thee, faire Queene, if thou louest Gaueston, 620 He hang a golden tongue about thy neck. Seeing thou hast pleaded with so good successe. Qu. No other iewels hang about my neck Then these, my lord, nor let me haue more wealth Then I may fetch from this ritch treasurie : 625 O, how a kisse reuiues poore Isahell. Edw. Once more receiue my hand, and let this be A second mariage twixt thy selfe and me. Qu. And may it prooue more happie then the first. My gentle lord, bespeake these nobles faire, 630 That waite attendance for a gratious looke. And on their knees salute your maiestie. Edw. Couragious Lancaster, imbrace thy king, Cg 602 ridF. 603 ha'ingF. 614 ^axly'd D—RW F E. 620 lov'st Z)—F. 621 thy] my 34. 625 treasure D—iJ. 28 EDWARD II And as grosse vapours perish by the sunne, Euen so let hatred with thy soueraigne[s] smile ; 635 Liue thou with me as my companion. Lan. This salutation ouerioyes my heart. Edw. Warwick shalbe my chiefest counseller : These siluer haires will more adorne my court Then gaudie silkes, or rich imbrotherie. 640 Chide me, sweete Warwick, if I go astray. War. Slay me, my lord, when I offend your grace. Edw. In sollemne triumphes and in pubhke showes Penbrooke shall beare the sword before the king. Pen. And with this sword Penbrooke wil fight for you. 645 Edw. But wherefore walkes yong Mortimer aside ? Be thou commaunder of our royall fleete, Or, if that loftie office like thee not, I make thee heere lord Marshall of the realme. Mor. iu. My lord, ile marshall so your enemies 650 As England shall be quiet, and you safe. Edw. And as for you, lord Mortimer of Chirke, Whose great atchiuements in our terrain warre Deserues no common place, nor meane reward : Be you the generall of the leuied troopes - 655 That now are readie to assaile the Scots. Mor. se. In this your grace hath highly honoured me. For with my nature warre doth best agree. Qu. Now is the king of England riche and strong, Hauing the loue of his renowned peeres. 660 Edw. I, Isabell, nere was my heart so light. Clarke of the crowne, direct our warrant forth For Gaueston to Ireland. Beamont ! [Enter Beaumont.] flie As fast as Iris, or loues Mercurie. Beam. It shalbe done, my gratious Lord. [Exit.] 665 635 E'en F; soueraigne 12. 640 embroidery Z) — V. 650 so] all 34. 654 Deserve D—F P. 660 renowmed D^ WK. EDWARD II 29 Edw. Lord Mortimer, we leaue you to your charge. D i Now let vs in, and feast it roiallie : Against our friend the earle of Cornewall comes. Week haue a generall tilt and turnament. And then his mariage shalbe solemnized. 670 For wot you not that I haue made him sure Vnto our cosin, the earle of Glosters heire ? Lan. Such newes we heare, my lord. Edw. That day, if not for him, yet for my sake. Who in the triumphe will be challenger, 675 Spare for no cost, we will requite your loue. Warwick. In this, or ought, your highnes shall commaund vs. Edward. Thankes, gentle Warwick ; come, lets in and reuell. Exeunt. Manent Mortimers. Mor. se. Nephue, I must to Scotland, thou stalest here. Leaue now to oppose thy selfe against the king. 680 Thou seest by nature he is milde and calme ; And seeing his minde so dotes on Gaueston, Let him without controulement haue his will. The mightiest kings haue had their minions, — Great Alexander londe Ephestion, 685 The conquering Hercules for Hilas wept, And for Pairoclus sterna Achillis droopt ; And not kings onelie, but the wisest men : The Romaine Tullie loued Octauis, Graue Socrates, wilde Alcibiades. 690 Then let his grace, whose youth is flexible. And promiseth as much as we can wish. Freely enioy that vaine, light-headed earle. For riper yeares will weane him from such toyes. Mor. iu. Vnckle, his wanton humor greeues not me, 695 671 wote 23 ; wrote 4. 672 th'Earl F. 675 the om. 34. 679 stay'st D—D^ KFTM. 680 t'oppose RCWFBE PV. 686 Hercules] Hector 1234Z); Herc'les D^D^R. [for] did for 4 O for his DD^SD^RCB P; wept} weepe 4 0. 687", AchiUes D— V 689 Octavius 3— Br.; lov'd D D^O—D^KT P M.r}oweA (not lovdd) SCWFBEV. 30 EDWARD II But this I scorne, that one so basehe borne D2 Should by his soueraignes fauour grow so pert, ■ And riote it with the treasure of the realme, While souldiers mutinie for want of paie. He weares a lords reuenewe on his back, 700 And Midas like he lets it in the court. With base outlandish cullions at his heeles, Whose proud fantastick liueries make such show As if that Proteus, god of shapes, appearde. I haue not seene a dapper lack so briske : 705 He weares a short Italian hooded cloake. Larded with pearle, and in his tuskan cap A iewell of more value then the crowne. Whiles other walke below, the king and he From out a window laugh at such as we, 710 And floute our traine, and iest at our attire ; Vnckle, tis this that makes me impatient. Mor. se. But, nephew, now you see the king is changd. Mor. iu. Then so am I, and Hue to do him seruice. But whiles I haue a sword, a hand, a hart, 715 I will not yeeld to any such vpstart. You know my minde,j come, vnckle, lets away. Exeunt. Enter [the younger] Spencer and Balduck. Bald. Spencer, Seeing that our Lord th' earle of Glosters dead. Which of the nobles dost thou meane to serue ? 720 Spen. Not Mortimer, nor any of his side, Because the king and he are enemies. Baldock, learne this of me, a factious lord Shall hardly do himselfe good, much lesse vs, 698 it om. D — if. 703 makes 4. 709 While DSO R—K B— V; others 3—KETPM. 711 iest] jet S. 712 that om. CWBEPV. 715 whilst i)— if C P. 718-19 1234 print "■s one I.; the earl D — K B — V. 720 doest 3. EDWARD II 31 But he that hath the fauour of a king 725 May with one word aduaunce vs while we hue. The Uberall earle of Cornewall is the man D 3 On whose good fortune S fencers hope depends. Bald. What, meane you then to be his follower ? Spen. No, his companion, for he loues me well, 730 And would have once preferd me to the king. Bald. But he is banisht, theres small hope of him. Spen. I, for a while, but, Baldock, marke the end : A friend of mine told me in secrecie That hees repeald, and sent for back againe ; 735 And euen now a poast came from the court, With letters to our ladie from the King, And as she red, she smild, which makes me thinke It is aboiit her louer Gaueston. Bald. Tis like enough, for since he was exild 740 She neither walkes abroad, nor comes in sight. But I had thought the match had beene broke off. And that his banishment had changd her minde. Spen. Our Ladies first loue is not wauering, My life for thine she will haue Gaueston. 745 Bald. Then hope I by her meanes to be preferd, Hauing read vnto her since she was a childe. Spen. Then, Balduck, you must cast the scholler off. And leame to court it Hke a Gentleman : Tis not a black coate and a little band, 750 A Veluet cap'de cloake, fac'st before with Serge, And smelling to a Nosegay all the day. Or holding of a napkin in your hand. Or saying a long grace at a tables end. Or making lowe legs to a noble man, 755 Or looking downeward, with your eye lids close, And saying, trulie ant may please your honor, Can get you any fauour with great men. You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serues. D4 760 728 hopes E. 32 EDWARD II Bald. Spencer, thou knowest I hate such formall toies, And vse them but of meere hypocrisie. Mine old lord, whiles he liude, was so precise That he would take exceptions at my buttons. And being like pins heads, blame me for the bignesse, 765 Which made me curate-like in mine attire. Though inwardly licentious enough. And apt for any kinde of villanie. I am none of these common pedants, I, That cannot speake without propterea quod. 770 Spen. But one of those that saith quandoquidem, And hath a special! gift to forme a verbe. Bald. Leaue of this iesting ; here my lady comes. Enter the Ladie [King Edward's Niece.] Lady. The greefe for his exile was not so much As is the ioy of his returning home. 775 This letter came from my sweete Gaueston. What needst thou, loue, thus to excuse thy selfe ? I know thou couldst not come and visit me. ' I will not long be from thee, though I die.' [Reading.] This argues the entire loue of my Lord. 780 ' When I forsake thee, death seaze on my heart.' [Reading.] But rest thee here where Gaueston shall sleepe. [Puts letter into her bosom.] Now to the letter of my Lord the King : He wils me to repaire vnto the court. And meete my Gaueston ; why do I stay, 785 Seeing that he talkes thus of my mariage day ? Whose there, Balduck ? See that my coache be readie, I must hence. Bald. It shall be done, madam. Exit. 761 know'st 4 D — V ; formall om. 34. 762 of] as 4. 763 while 2) — RCP. 766 my V. 769 pendants i. 782 But rest] I put D ; rest om. 2 ; rest] stay 34 D^ — V. EDWARD II 33 Lad. And meete me at the parke pale presentlie. 790 Spencer, stay you and beare me companie, For I haue ioyfull newes to tell thee of. Dj My lord of Cornewall is a comming ouer. And will be at the court as soone as we. Sfpen. I knew the King would haue him home againe. 795 Lad. If all things sort out, as I hope they will, Thy seruice, Spencer, shalbe thought vpon. Spen. I humbly thanke your Ladieship. Lad. Come, lead the way, I long till I am there. [Exeunt^ Enter Edward, the Queene, Lancaster, [the younger'] Mortimer, Warwicke, Penbrooke, Kent, attendants. Edw. The winde is good, I wonder why he stayes ; 800 I feare me he is wrackt vpon the sea. Queen. Looke, Lancaster, how passionate he is, And stiU his minde runs ©n his minion. Lan. My Lord, — Edw. How now, what newes, is Gaueston arriude ? 805 Mor. i. Nothing but Gaueston, what means your grace ? ou haue matters of more waight to thinke vpon, he King of Fraunce sets foote in Normandie. EiviJ. A triflle, weele expell him when we please : But tell me, Mortimer, whats thy deuise ^ 810 Against the stately triumph we decreed ? >' '\ ^i~e,. V^: \y P-- 'tf ' H'ftC Mor. iu. A homely one, my lord, not worth the telling. i>, ^^ ^^g I*""** » Edw. Prethee let me know it. s.^ ^ < Mor. iu. But seeing you are so desirous, thus it is : '' ^>^' '"^ >■ A loftie Cedar tree faire flourishing, 815 On whose top-branches Kmglie Eagles pearch, And by the barke a canker CTSepfS-Joievp, And gets vnto the highest bough of all ; The motto : Aeque tandem. Edw. And what is yours, my lord of Lancaster ? 820 801 wreck'd D-^—R D^—K B—V. 807 You've F. 813 Pray thee 234 D— V. 814 you're FT M. 818 into C F— V. 34 EDWARD II Lan. My lord, mines more obscure then Mortimers ; Plinie reports there is a flying Fish Which all the other fishes deadly hate, Dg And therefore being pursued, it takes the aire : No sooner is it vp, but thers a foule 825 That seaseth it : thj^^fish, my lord, I beare, ^ The motto this : ryM^iie'mdfS est'. ' -'"'-'•• aUt~p Edw. Proud Mortimer, vngentle Lancaster, Is this the loue you beare your soueraigne ? Is this the fruite your reconcilement beares ? 830 Can you in words make showe of amitie. And in your shields display your rancorous minds ? What call you this but priuate libelling Against the Earle of Cornewall and myjsfether ? Qu. Sweete husband, be content, they all loue you. • 835 Edw. They loue me not that hate my Gaueston. I am that Cedar, shake me not too much ; And you the Eagles : sore ye nere so high, I haue the gesses that will pull you downe. And Aeque tandem shall that canker crie 840 Vnto the proudest peere of Britanie : Though thou comparst him to a flying Fish, And threatenest death whether he rise or fall, Tis not the hugest monster of the sea Nor fowlest Harpie that shall swallow him. 845 Mor. iu. If in his absence thus he fauors him. What will he do when as he shall be present ? [Aside to Lancaster.] Lan. That shall wee see ; looke where his lordship comes. Enter Gaueston. Edw. My Gaueston, Welcome to Tinmouth, welcome to thy friend. 850 822 a om. 2 D. 828 D3— V ass. speech to Kent. 838 ye] you 4 839 grasses misp. i—R; you] ye P- 842 comparest S. 843 threatnest 2—SD^FTM; threaten'st D3 D^ K. 849-50 1234 print as one I. EDWARD II 35 Thy absence made me droope, and pine away ; For as the louers of faire Danae, When she was lockt vp in a brasen tower, Desirde her more, and waxt outragious, D, So did it sure with me : and now thy sight 855 Is sweeter farre, then was thy parting hence Bitter and irkesome to my sobbing heart. Gau. Sweet Lord and King, your speech preuenteth mine, Yet haue I words left to expresse my ioy : The sheepeherd nipt with biting winters rage 860 FroHcks not more to see the paynted springe, Then I doe to behold your Maiestie. Edw. Will none of you salute my Gaueston P Lan. Salute him ? yes : welcome. Lord Chamberlaine ! Mor. iu. Welcome is the good Earle of Cornewall ! 865 War. Welcome, Lord gouernour of the He of man ! Pen. Welcome, maister secretarie ! Edm. Brother, doe you heare them ? Edw. Stil wil these Earles and Barrons vse me thus ? Gau. My Lord, I cannot brooke these iniuries. 870 Qu. Aye me, poore soule, when these begin to iarre. [Aside.] Edw. Retume it to their throtes, ile be thy warrant. Gau. Base, leaden Earles that glorie in your birth, Goe sit at home and eate your tenants beefe, And come not here to scoffe at Gaueston, 875 Whose mounting thoughts did neuer creepe so low As to bestow a looke on such as you. Lan. Yet I disdaine not to doe this for you. [Draws.] Edw. Treason, treason ! whers the traitor ? Pen. Heere, here. King ! 880 [Edw.] Conuey hence Gaueston, thaile murder him. 855 sure] fare 4 — V. 859 left om. O 867 maiste misp. 2 ; Mas. Sec't'ry F. 871 Aye] AhD—RCWP. 880-1 Heere . . . him] Heere, here, King, conuey hence Gaueston, thaile murder him i—RCP; D^W K E T M V Br. om. King or employ it in prefix I. 881. 36 EDWARD II Gau. The life of thee shall salue this foule disgrace. Mor. iu. Villaine, thy life, vnlesse I misse mine aime. [Wounds Gaveston.] Qu. Ah, furious Mortimer, what hast thou done ? Mor. [iu.] No more then I would answere were he slaine. 885 [Exit Gaveston with Attendants.] Ed. Yes, more then thou canst answer, though he hue. Dg Deare shall you both able this riotous deede : Out of my presence, come not neere the court. Mor. iu. He not be barde the court for Gaueston. Lan. Weele haile him by the eares vnto the block. 890 Edw. Looke to your owne heads, his is sure enough. War. Looke to your owne crowne, if you back him thus. Edm. Warwicke, these words do ill beseeme thy years. Edw. Nay, all of them conspire to crosse me thus, But if I liue, ile tread upon their heads, 895 That thinke with high lookes thus to tread me down. Come, Edmund, lets away, and leuie men, Tis warre that must abate these Barons^J iide. Exit the King [with IsaheYLaTand Kent]. War. Lets to our castels, for the king is mooude. Mor. iu. Moou'd may he be, and perish in his wrath. 900 Lan. Cosin, it is no dealing with him now. He meanes to make vs stoope by force of armes. And therefore let vs iointlie here protest To prosecute that Gaueston to the death. Mor. iu. By heauen, the abiect villaine shall not liue. 905 War. Ile haue his bloud, or die in seeking it. Pen. The like oath Penbrooke takes. Lan. And so doth Lancaster : Now send our Heralds to defie the King, And make the people sweare to put him downe. gio Enter a Poast. Mor. iu. Letters, from whence ? 887 abide 2 — V. 891 owne om. C P ; W transposes to after his. 904 persecute E ; Gauston F. EDWARD II 37 Messen. From Scotland, myiord. Lan. Why, how now, cosin, how fares all our friends ? Mor. iu. My vnckles taken prisoner by the Scots. La. Weel haue him ransomd, man, be of good cheere. Mor. They rate his ransome at hue thousand pound, E^ 915 Who should defray the money but the King, Seeing he is taken prisoner in his warres ? He to the King. Lan. Do, cosin, and ile beare thee companie. War. Meane time my lord of Penbrooke and my selfe 920 Will to Newcastell heere, and gather head. Mor. iu. About it, then, and we will follow you. Lan. Be resolute, and full of secrecie. War. I warrant you. [Exeunt all but Young Mortimer and Lancaster.] Mor. iu. Cosin, and if he will not ransome him, 925 lie thimder such a peale into his eares As neuer subiect did vnto his King. Lan. Content, ile beare my part ; holla, whose there ? {Enter Guard.'] Mor. iu. I, marry, such a garde as this dooth well. Lan. Lead on the way. Guard. Whither will your lordships ? 930 Mor. iu. Whither else but to the King ? Guar. His highnes is disposde to be alone. Lan. Why, so he may, but we will speake to him. Guard. You may not in, my lord. Mor. iu. May we not ? {Re-enter King Edward and Kent.] Edw. How now, what noise is this ? Who haue we there ? 935 1st you ? {Going.] 912 fare Dj S D^ D^—K PM. 915 pounds K. 925 and] an D^ W K. 928 holloa CF P. 930 Whi'er F; lordship O. 931 Whi'er F ; th' F. 934 m'lord F. 935-6 1234 ^nw< as 2 U. with division after this. 38 EDWARD II Mor. Nay, stay, my lord, I come to bring you newes, Mine vnckles taken prisoner by the Scots. Edw. Then ransome him. Lan. Twas in your wars, you should ransome him. 940 Mor. iu. And you shall ransome him, or else — Edm. What, Mortimer, you will not threaten him ? Edw. Quiet your self, you shall haue the broad seale To gather for him thoroughout the realme. Lan. Your minion Gaueston hath taught you this. 945 Mor. iu. My lord, the familie of the Mortimers E2 Are not so poore, but, would they sell their land, Would leuie men enough to anger you. We neuer beg, but vse such praiers as these. [Striking his sword.] Edw. Shall I still be haunted thus ? 950 Mor. iu. Nay, now you are heere alone, ile speake my minde. Lan. ^d so will I, and then, my lord, farewell. Mqr^/The idle triumphes, maskes, lasciuious showes, /And prodigall gifts bestowed on Gaueston, I Haue drawne thy treasure drie, and made thee weake ; 955 The murmuring commons ouerstretched hath. Lan. Looke for rebellion, looke to be deposde. Thy garrisons are beaten out of Fraunce, And, lame and poore, lie groning at the gates ; The wilde Oneyle, with swarmes of Irish Kernes, 960 I Lines vncontroulde within the English pale ; V Vnto the walles of Yorke the Scots made rode, I And, vnresisted, draue away riche spoiles. Mw. iu. The hautie Dane commands the narrow seas. While in the harbor ride thy ships vnrigd. 965 Lan. What forraine prince sends thee embassadors ? 938 uncle is D—D^. 940 It was F T. 944 throughout i—RKET MV. 948 Twould34D3— if jB— F,- Could D—i?. 950 taunted R. 951 you're ORCW FBEPV. 955 treasurie 34 O ff — K B — V. 956 hath] break D— V. 961 Live DD^S D^. 962 make D— V. 963 draw D — R ; drive D^— V. EDWARD II 39 s Mor. [w.] Who loues thee ? but a sort of flatterers. _j[ Lan. Thy gentle Queene, sole sister to Valoys, Complaines that thou hast left her all forlorne. Mor. [w.] Thy court is naked, being bereft of those 970 That makes a king seeme glorious to the world, I meane the peeres, whom thou shouldst dearly loue. Libels are cast againe thee in the streete. Ballads and rimes, made of thy ouerthrow. Lan. The Northren borderers, seeing the houses burnt, 975 Their wiues and children slaine, run vp and downe. Cursing the name of thee and Gaueston. Mor. [iu.] When wert thou in the field with banner spred ? But once, and then thy souldiers marcht like players. With garish robes, not armor, and thy selfe, 980 Bedaubd with golde, rode laughing at the rest, Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest. Where womens fauors hung like labels downe. Lan. And thereof came it that the fleering Scots, To Englands high disgrace, haue made this lig : 985 Maids of England, sore may you moorne For your lemmons you haue lost, at Bannocks borne. With a heaue and a ho. What weeneth the king of England So soone to haue woone Scotland, 990 With a rombelow. Mor. [iu.] Wigmore shall flie, to set my vnckle free. Lan. And when tis gone, our swordes shall purchase more. If ye be moou'de, reuenge it as you can, Looke next to see vs with our ensignes spred. 995 Exeunt Nobiles. 971 makeDj^SZ).^— isTB— F. 973 against 34 D—i? C P. 975 northern Dj—V; brothers misp. D ; the] their 2— F. 978 banners 4 i? C. 980 nor misp. D. 984 therefore 34 £F. 985 ligge O. 987 you've F. 989 weened DOR. 993 gone] done P- 994 ye] you 4 D^D^WKP ; as] ii^ORC P. 40 EDWARD II Edwa. My swelling hart for very anger breakes. How oft haue I beene baited by these peeres ? And dare not be reuengde, for their power is great. Yet, shall the crowing of these cockerels Affright a Lion ? Edward, vnfolde thy pawes, looo And let their lines bloud slake thy furies hunger : If I be cruell, and growe tyrannous, Now let them thanke themselues, and rue too late. Kent. My lord, I see your loue to Gaueston Will be the ruine of the realme and you, 1005 For now the wrathfuU nobles threaten warres, And therefore, brother, banish him for euer. Edw. Art thou an enemie to my Gaueston ? Kent. I, and it greeues me that I fauoured him. E4 Edw. Traitor, be gone, whine thou with Mortimer. loio Kent. So will I, rather then with Gaueston. Edw. Out of my sight, and trouble me no more. Kent. No maruell though thou scorne thy noble peeres. When I thy brother am reiected thus. Exit. Edw. Away. 1015 Poore Gaueston, that hast no friend but me. Do what they can, weele line in Tinmoth here. And so I walke with him about the walles. What care I though the Earles be girt vs round ? Heere comes she thats cause of all these iarres. 1020 Enter the Queene, [Gaueston], Ladies 3 {including the King's Niece], Baldock, and [the younger] Spencer. Qu. My lord, tis thought the Earles are vp in armes. Edw. I, and tis likewise thought you fauour 'em. Qu. Thus do you still suspect me without cause. La. Sweet vnckle, speake more kindly to the queene. 996 for] with 4 O i?. 1004 to] for i? C P. 1008 my om. D. 1013 though] that D—R. 1015-16 1234 print as one I. ; that] thou K ; has CFBEPV. 1020 Cometh D—R CWBEPV ; that is D^D^K FT M. 1022 'em] him 1234; them D—RCWFP. EDWARD II 41 Gau. My lord, dissemble with her, speake her faire. 1025 [Aside.] Edw. Pardon me, sweet, I forgot my selfe. Qu. Your pardon is quickUe got of Isahell. Edw. The yonger Mortimer is growne so braue That to my face he threatens ciuill warres. Gau. Why do you not commit him to the tower ? 1030 Edw. I dare not, for the people loue him well. Gau. Why, then, weele haue him priuilie made away. Edw. Would Lancaster and he had both carroust A bowle of poison to each others health. But let them go, and tell me what are these. 1035 Lad. Two of my fathers seruants whilst he liu'de, Mait please your grace to entertaine them now ? Edw. TeU me, where wast thou borne ? What is thine armes ? Eg Bald. My name is Baldock, and my gentrie I fetcht from Oxford, not from Heraldrie. 1040 Edw. The fitter art thou, Baldock, for my turne. Waite on me, and ile see thou shalt not want. Bald. I humblie thanke your maiestie. Edw. Knowest thou him, Gaueston ? Gau. I, my lord. His name is Spencer, he is well alied. 1045 For my sake let him waite vpon your grace. Scarce shall you finde a man of more desart. Edw. Then, Spencer, waite vpon me, for his sake Ile grace thee with a higher stile ere long. Spen, No greater titles happen vnto me 1050 Then to be fauoured of your maiestie. Edw. Cosin, this day shalbe your mariage feast ; ^nd, Gaueston, thinke that I loue thee well 7"o wed thee to our neece, the onely heire Vnto the Earle of Gloster late deceased. 1055 1026 had forgot RCWFEPV. 1027 pardon's W F. 1038 1234 print as 2 II. 1040 fetch 2 — V. 1042 shall 5 £ V. 1044-5 I • • . alied 12^4 print as one I. 42 EDWARD II Gau. I know, my lord, many will stomack me ; But I respect neither their loue nor hate. Edw. The head-strong Barons shall not limit me ; He that I list to fauour shall be great. Come, lets away, and when the mariage ends, 1060 Haue at the rebels, and their complices. Exeunt omnes. Enter Lancaster, [the younger] Mortimer, Warwick, Penbrooke, Kent. Kent. My lords, of loue to this our natiue land, I come to ioine with you, and leaue the king. And in your quarrell and the realmes behoofe. Will be the first that shall aduenture life. 1065 Lan. I feare me you are sent of poUicie To vndermine vs with a showe of loue. Eg Warw. He is your brother, therefore haue we cause To cast the worst, and doubt of your reuolt. Edm. Mine honor shalbe hostage of my truth ; 1070 If that will not suffice, farewell, my lords. Mor. iu. Stay, Edmund, neuer was Plantagenet False of his word, and therefore trust we thee. Pen. But whats the reason you should leaue him now ? Kent. I haue enformd the Earle of Lancaster. 1075 Lan. And it sufl&ceth ; now, my lords, know this. That Gaueston is secretlie arriude. And here in Tinmoth froUicks with the king ; Let vs with these our followers scale the walles. And sodenly surprize them vnawares. 1080 Mor. iu. He giue the onset. War. And ile follow thee. Mor. iu. This tottered ensigne of my auncesters, Which swept the desart shore of that dead sea Whereof we got the name of Mortimer, Will I aduaunce vpon this castell walles. 1085 Drums, strike alarum, raise them from their sport, 1070 should be 4. 1082 tattered DSD^K. 1085 thes By.; castle's or castle['s] D— V. EDWARD II 43 And ring aloude the knell of Gaueston. Lane. None be so hardie as to touche the King, But neither spare you Gaueston, nor his friends. Exeunt. Enter [severally'] the king and Spencer, to them Gaueston, &c. Edw. O tell me, Spencer, where is Gaueston ? 1090 Spen. I feare me he is slaine, my gratious lord. Edw. No, here he comes, now let them spoile and kill. Flie, flie, my lords, the earles haue got the holde. Take shipping and away to Scarborough ; Spencer and I will post away by land. 1095 Gau. stay, my lord, they will not iniure you. E7 Edw. I wiU not trust them, Gaueston, away. Gau. Farewell, my Lord. Edw. Ladie, farewell. Lad. Farewell, sweete vnckle, tiU we meete againe. iioo Edw. Farewell, sweete Gaueston, and farewell, Neece. Qu. No farewell to poore Isahell thy Queene ? Edw. Yes, yes, for Mortimer your louers sake. Exeunt omnes, manet Isabella. Qu. Heauens can witnesse I loue none but you. From my imbracements thus he breakes away. 1105 that mine armes could close this lie about. That I might pull him to me where I would, Or that these teares thatdrissell from mine eyes Had power to moUifie his stonie hart. That when I had him we might neuer part. mo Enter the Barons alarums. Lan. I wonder how he scapt. Mor. iu. Whose this, the Queene ? Qu. I, Mortimer, the miserable Queene, Whose pining heart her inward sighes haue blasted. And body with continuall moorning wasted : These hands are tir'd, with haling of my lord mS 1088 to om. 23 F. 1089 Gauston F. 1104 Heaven ORCFBEPV. 44 EDWARD II From Gaueston, from wicked Gaueston. And all in vaine, for when I speake him faire. He turnes away, and smiles vpon his minion. Mor. iu. Cease to lament, and tell vs wheres the king ? Qu. What would you with the king, ist him you seek ? 1120 Lan. No, madam, but that cursed Gaueston. Farre be it from the thought of Lancaster To offer violence to his soueraigne. We would but rid the realme of Gaueston : Tell vs where he remaines, and he shall die. 1125 Qu. Hees gone by water vnto Scarborough ; Eg Pursue him quickhe, and he cannot scape, The king hath left him, and his traine is small. War. Forslowe no time, sweet Lancaster, lets march. Mor. [iu.] How comes it that the king and he is parted? 1130 Qu. That this your armie, going seuerall waies, Might be of lesser force, and with the power That he intendeth presentlie to raise. Be easilie supprest : and therefore be gone. Mor. [iu.] Heere in the riuer rides a Flemish hole ; 1135 Lets all aboord, and follow him amaine. Lan. The wind that bears him hence, wil fil our sailes ; Come, come, aboord, tis but an houres sailing. Mor. [iu.] Madam, stay you within this castell here. Qu. No, Mortimer, ile to my lord the king. 1140 Mor. [iu.] Nay, rather saile with vs to Scarborough. Qu. You know the king is so suspitious As if he heare I haue but talkt with you. Mine honour will be cald in question. And therefore, gentle Mortimer, be gone. 1145 Mor. [iu.] Madam, I cannot stay to answer you. But thinke of Mortimer as he deserues. [Exeunt all hut the Queen.] Qu. So well hast thou deseru'de, sweete Mortimer, As Isabell could Hue with thee for euer. 1121 curs'd D. 1130 is] are D—R. 1131 this] thus D— KB— F. 1134 and ow. 4— F. EDWARD II 45 In vaine I looke for loue at Edwards hand, 1 1 50 Whose eyes are fixt on none but Gaueston. Yet once more ile importune him with praiers ; If he be straunge and not regarde my wordes, My Sonne and I will ouer into France, And to the king my brother there complaine 11 55 How Gaueston hath robd me of his loue. But yet I hope my sorrowes will haue end. And Gaueston this blessed day be slaine. Exit. Enter Gaueston pursued. F 1 Gau. Yet, lustie lords, I haue escapt your handes. Your threats, your larums, and your hote pursutes, 1160 And though deuorsed from king Edwards eyes. Yet liueth Pierce of Gaueston vnsurprizd. Breathing in hope [malgrado all your beards. That muster rebels thus against your king) To see his royall soueraigne once againe. 1165 Enter the Nobles. War. Vpon him, souldiers, take away his weapons. Mor. [iu.] Thou proud disturber of thy countries peace. Corrupter of thy king, cause of these broiles. Base flatterer, yeeld, and were it not for shame. Shame and dishonour to a souldiers name, 1170 Vpon my weapons point here shouldst thou fall. And welter in thy goare. Lan. Monster of men. That, like the Greekish strumpet, traind to armes And bloudie warres so many valiant knights, Looke for no other fortune, wretch, then death. 1175 Kind Edward is not heere to buckler thee. 1152 prayer 2 — V. 1158 s.d. Exeunt 1234. 1160 alarms DO. 1162 Gauston F. 1163 you misp. 2. 1164 kind misp. D^- 1165 see] these misp. 2. 1172-4 Monster . . . knights 1234 print as 3 II., dividing at strumpet, warres, knights. 1173 traineth S. 1176 Kind] King 2— V. 46 EDWARD II War. Lancaster, why talkst thou to the slaue ? Go, souldiers, take him hence, for by my sword. His head shall off : Gaueston, short warning Shall serue thy turne : it is our countries cause 1180 That here seuerelie we will execute Vpon thy person : — hang him at a bough. Gau. My Lord, — War. Souldiers, haue him away. — But for thou wert the fauorit of a King, Thou shalt haue so much honor at our hands. 1185 Gau. I thanke you all, my lords ; then I perceiue That heading is one, and hanging is the other, F^ And death is all. Enter earle of Arundell. Lan. How now, my lord of Arundell ? Arun. My lords, king Edward greetes you all by me. 1190 War. Arundell, say your message. Arun. His maiesty. Hearing that you had take Gaueston, Intreateth you by me, yet but he may See him before he dies, for why, he sales. And sends you word, he knowes that die he shall ; 1195 And if you gratifie his grace so farre. He will be mindfull of the curtesie. Warw. How now ? Gau. Renowmed Edward, how thy name Reuiues poore Gaueston. War. No, it needeth not, Arundell, we will gratifie the king 1200 In other matters ; he must pardon vs in this. Souldiers, away with him. 1178-80 1234 print as 4 II., dividing at hence, off, turne, cause. 1179 Gauston F. 1182 at] upon D 2)j S Dg. 1183 loTdsD—RCWFP. 1187 heading's W F. 1 189 m'lord F. 1191-2 His . . . Ga.vestoni23/{ print as one I.; tha.t om. CW P , ta'en W. 1 193 yet but] but that D—R C P. iigS Renowned 3— RCKEPV. 1 199 Gauston F. i202wi'himF. EDWARD II 47 Gauest. Why, my Lord of VVarwicke, Will not these delaies beget my hopes ? I know it, lords, it is this life you aime at, 1205 Yet graunt king Edward this. Mor. iu. Shalt thou appoint What we shall graunt ? Souldiers, away with him. Thus weele gratifie the king, Weele send his head by thee ; let him bestow His teares on that, for that is all he gets 1210 Of Gaueston, or else his senselesse trunck. Lan. Not so, my Lord, least he bestow more cost In burying him then he hath elier earned. Arun. My lords, it is his maiesties request. And in the honor of a king he sweares 1215 He will but talke with him and send him backe. F3 War. When, can you tell ? Arundell, no, we wot He that the care of realme remits And driues his nobles to these exigents For Gaueston, will, if he zease him once, 1220 Violate any promise to possesse him. Arun. Then, if you will not trust his grace in keepe. My lords, I will be pledge for his returne. Mor. iu. It is honourable in thee to offer this. But for we know thou art a noble gentleman, 1225 We will not wrong thee so To make away a true man for a theefe. Gaue. How meanst thou, Mortimer ? that is ouer base. Mor. Away, base groome, robber of kings renowme. 1204 Will these delays beget me any hopes ? D — R ; will now these short JDg D^ ; will not [that] these -F. Period at end F. 1206-7 Shalt . . . him 1234 print as 2 complete II., dividing at graunt. 1208 we will CWPF ; Thus [far] F. 1212 lords Dj^SD^RCWF—V. 1215 in] on D— DgCP. 1218 that hath 34; Realme-remits 34 ; of his D— if B—F; [kingly] realm F. i22oseaze23; sees C WET PMV; seize rest. 1222 in keepe om. D. 1224 'Tis Dg — V. 1228 meanest D—R; that] this D S—RCFP; that's W. 1229 renowne 2— V. M 48 EDWARD II Question with thy companions and thy mates. 1230 Pen. My lord Mortimer, and you, my lords, each one. To gratifie the kings request therein, (Touching the sending of this Gaueston, I Because his maiestie so earnestUe I Desires to see the man before his death, 1235 ' I will vpon mine honor vndertake ,'To carrie him, and bring him back againe, Prouided this, that you, my lord of Arundell, Will ioyne with me. War. Penbrooke, what wilt thou do ? Cause yet more bloodshed ? is it not enough 1240 That we haue taken him, but must we now Leaue him on had-Iwist, and let him go ? Pen. My lords, I will not ouer wooe your honors, But if you dare trust Penbrooke with the prisoner, Vpon mine oath I will returne him back. 1245 Arun. My lord of Lancaster, what say you in this ? Lan. Why I say, let him go on Penbrookes word. Pen. And you, lord Mortimer ? F^ Mor. iu. How say you, my lord of Warwick ? War. Nay,' do your pleasures, 1250 I know how twill prooue. Pen. Then giue him me. Gau. Sweete soueraigne, yet I come To see thee ere I die. Warw. Yet not, perhaps. If Warwickes wit and pohcie preuaile. [Aside.] Mor. iu. My lord of Penbrooke, we deliuer him you ; 1255 Returne him on your honor ; — sound, away. Exeunt. 1230 thy mates] mates 234 D3 — V. 1231 M'lord F. 1236 my 34. 1238 m'lord F. 1240 it is DO. 1245 my DD^OD^R. 1246 M'Lord F. 1253 Not yet D—RCK P. 1255 deli'er F / him to O RC P. 1256 s.d. Arundell] Mat. i — R. As Mat. or Matre or Matreuis occurs regularly from this point on for Arundell in text and directions, it will not be noticed again. EDWARD II 49 Manent Penbrooke, Arundell, Gauest. & Penbrookes men, foure souldiers. Pen. My Lord, you shall go with me ; My house i^ not farre hence, out of the way A little, but our men shall go along. We that haue pretty wenches to our wiues, 1260 Sir, must not come so neare and balke their lips. Arun. Tis verie kindlie spoke, my lord of Penbrooke ; Your honor hath an adamant of power To drawe a prince. Pen. So, my lord ; — come hether, lames : 1265 I do commit this Gaueston to thee. Be thou this night his keeper ; in the morning We will discharge thee of thy charge ; be gon. Gau. Vnhappie Gaueston, whether goest thou now ? Exit cum seruis Pen. Horseboy. My lord, weele quicklie be at Cobham. 1270 Exeunt ambo. Enter Gaueston moorning, and the earle of Penbrookes men. Gaue. O treacherous Warwicke, thus to wrong thy friend ! lames. I see it is your life these armes pursue. Fg Gau. Weaponles must I fall, and die in bands. must this day be period of my life ! Center of all my blisse ! and yee be men, 1275 Speede to the king. Enter Warwicke and his companie. War. My lord of Penbrookes men, Striue you no longer, I will haue that Gaueston. lam. Your lordship doth dishonor to your selfe. And wrong our lord, your honorable friend. War. No, lames, it is my countries cause I follow. 1280 Goe, take the villaine, soldiers ; come away, 1257 M'Lord F; Lord [of Arundell] C W F B E P. 1261 and] to 2 — V. 1265 m'lord F. 1269 whi'er F; go'st D^KT M. 1275 all om. 34 ; an D3— V. 1277 longer] more D—RCP. 1278 does BEV. 50 EDWARD II Weel make quick worke : — cOmend me to your maister, My friend, and tell him that I watcht it well. — \ Come, let thy shadow parley with king Edward. I Gau. Treacherous earle, shall I not see the king ? 1285 ' War. The king of heauen perhaps, no other king. 5 Away ! ' Exeunt Warwike and Ms men, with Gauest. Manet lames cum cceteris. Come, fellowes, it booted not for vs to striue. We will in hast go certifie our Lord. Exeunt. Enter king Edward and [the younger] Spencer, [Baldock], with Drummes and Fifes. Edw. I long to heare an answer from the Barons Touching my friend, my deerest Gaueston. 1290 Ah, Spencer, not the riches of my realme Can ransome him ; ah, he is markt to die. I I know the malice of the yonger Mortimer ; I Warwick I know is roughe, and Lancaster Inexorable, and I shall neuer see 1295 My louely Pierce, my Gaueston againe. The- Barons ouerbeare me with their pride. Spencer. Were I king Edward, Englands soiaeraigne, Sonne to the louelie Elenor of Spaine, Fg Great Edward Longshankes issue, would I beare 1300 ^These braues, this rage, and suffer vncontrowld These Barons thus to beard me in my land. In mine owne realme ? my lord, pardon my speeche. Did you retaine your fathers magnanimitie. Did you regard the honor of your name, 1305 I You would notauffer thnsryour maiestie * Be counterbuft of your nobiHtie. Strike off their heads, and let them preach on poles. 1285 noti 2— SDgD^KFTM. 1287 s.tf. Manent 234. 1288 't F; booteth 3 — R. 1296 Pierce, my] Pierce of 2 — V. 1300 Edwards tnisp. 2. 1308 perch D. EDWARD II 51 No doubt, such lessons they will teach the rest, As by their preachments they will profit much, 1310 And learne obedience to their lawful! king. Edw. Yea, gentle Spencer, we haue beene too milde. Too kinde to them ; but now haue drawne our sword ; And^if_they send.Bie,not.jBy^GaMgsto.w^ Weele Steele it on their crest, and powle their tops. 1315 Bald. This haught resolue becomes your maiestie,' Not to be tied to their_affgcJ;ion, As though your highnes were a schoole boy still, And must be awde and gouernd hke a child. Enter Hugh Spencer, an old man, father to the yong Spencer with his trunchion, and soldiers. Spen. pa. Long hue my soueraigne, the noble Edward, 1320 In peace triumphant, fortunate in warres. Edw. Welcome, old man, comst thou in Edwards aide ? Then tell thy prince, of whence, and what thou art. Spen. pa. Loe, with a band of bowmen and of pikes, Browne bils, and targetiers, 400 strong, 1325 Sworne to defend king Edwards royall right, I come in person to your maiestie, Spencer, the father of Hugh Spencer there, Bound to your highnes euerlastinglie, F, For fauors done in him vnto vs all. 1330 Edw. Thy father, Spencer ? Spen. filius. True, and it like your grace. That powres, in lieu of all your goodnes showne. His hfe, my lord, before your princely feete. Edw. Welcome ten thousand times, old man, againe. Spencer, this loue, this kindnes to thy king, 1335 Argues thy noble minde and disposition. Spencer, I heere create thee earle of Wilshire, 1309-10 they . . . preachments om. O. 1315 crest[s] D^K; pole F. 1316 haught] high DO. 1317 You ought not DD^SD^. 1323 thy] the 2—RK. 1330 favour 2 — V. 1331 an ZJg — KB — F; an't F. 52 EDWARD II And daily will enrich thee with our fauour. That as the sun-shine shall reflect ore thee. Beside, the more to manifest our loue, 1340 Because we heare Lord Bruse dooth sell his land, And that the Mortimers are in hand withall. Thou shalt haue crownes of vs, t'outbid the Barons ; And, Spenser, spare them not, but lay it on. Souldiers, a largis, and thrice welcome all. 1345 Spen. [filius.] My lord, here comes the Queene. Enter the .Queene and her sonne, and Levune a Frenchman. Edw. Madam, what newes ? Qu. Newes of dishonor, lord, and discontent. Our friend Levune, faithfuU and full of trust, Informeth vs, by letters and by words. That lord Valoyes our brother, king of Fraunce, 1350 Because your highnesse hath beene slack in homage. Hath seazed Normandie into his hands. These be the letters, this the messenger. Edw. Welcome, Levune ; tush, Sih, if this be all, Valoys and I will soone be friends againe. 1355 But to my Gaueston : shall I neuer see, Neuer behold thee now ? — Madam, in this matter. We will employ you and your little sonne ; Fg You shall go parley with the king of Fraunce. Boye, see you beare you brauelie to the king, 1360 And do your message with a maiestie. Prin. Commit not to my youth things of more waight Then fits a prince so yong as I to beare. And feare not, lord and father, heauens great beames 1340 Besides J5 — RCP. 13431034. 1344 but om. 2 — D^ KBETMV; but] no W. 1345 large misp. O. 1346 come 2. 1346 s.d. Levune] Lewne, Lewne, Lewen 1234 here and in rest of play. The point will not again be noticed. 1350 lord ojw.D — R. 1356 Gauston F. 1357 now] more D — R CF P. 1363 Then] That misp. CP- fits] suits O R. EDWARD II 53 On Atlas shoulder shall not lie more safe 1365 Then shall your charge committed to my trust. Qu. A, boye, this towardnes makes thy mother feare Thou art not markt to many dales on earth. Edw. Madam, we will that you with speed be shipt, And this our sonne ; Levune shall follow you 1370 With all the hast we can dispatch him hence. Choose of our lords to beare you companie, And go in peace ; leaue vs in warres at home. Qu. Vnnatural wars, where subiects braue their king, God end them once : my lord, I take my leaue 1375 To make my preparation for Fraunce. Enter Lord Arundell. Edw. What, lord Arundell, dost thou come alone ? Arun. Yea, my good lord, for Gaueston is dead. Edw. Ah, traitors, haue they put my friend to death ? Tell me, Arundell, died he ere thou camst, 1380 Or didst thou see my friend to take his death ? Arun. Neither, my lord, for as he was surprizd. Begirt with weapons, and with enemies round, I did your highnes message to them all. Demanding him of them, entreating rather, 1385 And said, vpon the honour of my name, That I would vndertake to carrie him Vnto your highnes, and to bring him back. Edw. And tell me, would the rebels denie me that ? Spen. [filius]. Proud recreants. Gj Edw. Yea, S-pencer, traitors all. 1390 Arun. I found them at the first inexorable : The earle of Warwick would not bide the hearing, Mortimer hardly, Penbrooke and Lancaster Spake least ; and when they flatly had denyed. Refusing to receiue me pledge for him, 1395 The earle of Penbrooke mildlie thus bespake : 1378 Yes 34. 1380 earnests. 1391 the om.ORC P. 1394 Speake 23. 1395 me] my 4. 54 EDWARD II ' My lords, because our soueraigne sends for him. And promiseth he shall be safe retumd, I will this vndertake, to haue him hence, And see him redehuered to your hands.' 1400 Edw. WeU, and how fortunes that he came not ? Spen. [filius]. Some treason, or some viUanie was cause. Arun. The earle of Warwick seazde him on his way ; For, being dehuered unto Penbrookes men. Their lord rode home, thinking his prisoner safe ; 1405 But ere he came, Warwick in ambush laie. And bare him to his death, and in a trenche Strake off his head, and marcht vnto the campe. Spen. [filius]. A bloudie part, flatly against law of armes. Edw. O, shall I speake, or shall I sigh and die ! 1410 Spen. [filius]. My lord, referre your vengeance to the sword, Vpon these Barons, Harten vp your men. Let them not vnreuengd murther your friends. Aduaunce your standard, Edward, in the field. And marche to fire them from their starting holes. 1415 Edward kneeles, and saith. By earth, the common mother of vs all. By heauen, and aU the moouing orbes thereof. By this right hand, and by my fathers sword. And all the honors longing to my crowne, I will haue heads and hues for him as many 1420 As I haue manors, ceistels, townes, and towers. G^ Tretcherous Warwicke, traiterous Mortimer : If I be Englands king, in lakes of gore Your headles trunkes, your bodies wiU I traile. That you may drinke your fill, and quaffe in bloud. 1425 And staine my roiall standard with the same. That so my bloudie colours may suggest Remembrance of reuenge immortallie 1399 thisow. D. 1401 fortunes it D3 1)4 C PF S jE P / not then F. 1402 the cause D—R CFBEPV. 1408 stroke 34; struck D — RK. 1409 'gainst 4 — V. 1419 honour W. EDWARD II 55 On your accursed traiterous progenie, You villaines that haue slaine my Gaueston. 1430 And in this place of honor and of trust, Spencer, sweet Spencer, I adopt thee heere, And meerely of our loue we do create thee Earle of Gloster, and lord Chamberlaine, Despite of times, despite of enemies. I435 Spen. [fHius}. My lord, here is a messenger from the Barons Desires accesse vnto your maiestie. Edw. Admit him neere. Enter the Herald from the Barons, with his coate of armes. Messen. Long hue king Edward, Englands lawful lord. Edw. So wish not they, I wis, that sent thee hither ; 1440 Thou comst from Mortimer and his complices ; A ranker route of rebels neuer was. Well, say thy message. Messen. The Barons vp in armes by me salute Your highaes-wit-h-long' life and happines, 1445 And bid me say as plainer to your grace, ( That if, without effusion of bloud. You will this greefe haue ease and remedie. That from your princely person you remooue This Spencer, as a putrifying branche 1450 \That deads the royall vine, whose golden leaues Empale your princelie head, your diadem, G3 Whose brightnes such pemitious vpstarts dim, Say they, and louinglie aduise your grace To cherish vertue and nobilitie, 1455 And haue old seruitors in high esteeme. And shake off smooth dissembling flatterers ; This graunted, they, their honors, and their lines. Are to your highnesse vowd and consecrate. 1431 this] his CFBT MP. 1433 out of Oi?. 1435 time O i?. 1436 heres is 12; heers s^DORD^—KEP V. 1441 comest S / accomplices D — RK. 1442 roote 23 Z) — D^ 1444 arm O. 1448 this greefe] of this 4 O. 1451 leave 2 (B.M., but Bv says Bodleian copy leaues). 56 EDWARD II Spen. [filius]. A, traitors, will they still display their pride ? 1460 Edw. Away, tarrie no answer, but be gon. Rebels, will they appoint their soueraigne His sports, his pleasures, and his companie ? Yet, ere thou go, see how I do deuorce Embrace Spencer from me ; now get thee to thy lords, Spencer. 1465 And tell them I will come to chastise them f For murthering Gaueston ; hie thee, get thee gone. I Edward with fire and sword foUowes at thy heeles. ''- [Exit Herald.] My lord, perceiue you how these rebels swell ? Souldiers, good harts ; defend your soueraignes right, 1470 For now, euen now, we marche to make them stoope. Away. Exeunt. Alarums, excursions, a great fight, and a retreate. Enter the king, Spencer the father, Spencer the sonne, [Baldock] and the noblemen of the kings side. Edw. Why do we sound retreat ? vpon them, lords. This day I shall powre vengeance with my sword On those proud rebels that are vp in armes, 1475 And do confront and countermaund their king. Spen. son. I doubt it not, my lord, right will preuaile. Spen. fa. Tis not amisse, my liege, for eyther part To breathe a while ; our men, with sweat and dust All chockt well neare, begin to faint for heate, 1480 And this retire refresheth horse and man. G4 Spen. son. Heere come the rebels. Enter the Barons, [the younger] Mortimer, Lancaster, Warwick, Penbrooke, cum cceteris. Mor. [iu.] Looke, Lancaster, yonder is Edward Among his flatterers. ~ ' 1469 lords Dg—W F B E P. 1471 e'en F. 1473 my lords D. 1483 WFass.foE.Mor; yonder's D—i2. 1484 'MongJD— i?. EDWARD II 57 Lan. And there let him bee, \ 'Till hee pay deerely for their companie. ] 1485 War. And shall, or Warwicks sword shal smite in vaine. Edw. What, rebels, do you shrinke, and sound retreat ? Mor. iu. No, Edward, no ; thy flatterers faint and flie. Lan. Th'ad best betimes forsake them and their trains. For theile betray thee, traitors as they are. 1490 Spen. so. Traitor on thy face, rebellious Lancaster. Pen. Away, base vpstart, brau'st thou nobles thus ? Spen. fa. A noble attempt, and honourable deed. Is it not, trowe ye, to assemble aide. And leuie armes against your lawfull king ? 1495 Edw. For which ere long their heads shall satisfie, T' appeaze the wrath of their offended king. Mor. iu. Then, Edward, thou wilt fight it to the last. And rather bathe thy sword in subiects bloud Then banish that pernicious companie ? 1500 Edw. I, traitors all, rather then thus be braude. Make Englands ciuill townes huge heapes of stones. And plowes to go about our pallace gates. War. A desperate and vnnaturall resolution. Alarum to the fight. Saint George for England 1505 And the Barons right. Edw. S. George for England and king Edwards right. [Exeunt fighting.] Enter Edward, with the Barons captiues. Edw. Now, lustie lords, now not by chance of warre. But iustice of the quarrell and the cause, Vaild is your pride ; me thinkes you hang the heads, G5 1510 But weele aduance them, traitors ; now tis time 1483-5 Looke . . . companie 1234 print as 2 II., dividing after flatterers. 1489 They'd R—K B—V; them] thee i— F. 1490 bewray B^. 1491 on] in S. 1492 bravest SCFBEPV. 1494 It is 2. 1497 To D— Dj CWBETMV. 1498 will 2. 1508 now om. OR; the chance O R. 58 EDWARD II To be auengd on you for all your braues, And for the murther of my deerest friend. To whome right well you knew our soule was knit. Good Pierce of Gaueston, my sweet fauoret, 1515 A, rebels, recreants, you made him away. Edm. Brother, in regard of thee and of thy land \ I)id they remooue that flatterer from thy thronej Si^w.^Scr, sfr, youhaue spoke ; away, audid'our ^esence. [Exit Kent.] Accursed wretches, wast in regard of vs, 1520 When we had sent our messenger to request He might be spared to come to speake with vs, I' And Penbrooke vndertooke for his returne, '\ That thou, proud Warwicke, watcht the prisoner, I Poore Pierce, and headed him against lawe of armes ? 1525 For which thy head shall ouer looke the rest As much as thou in rage out wentst the rest. War. Tyrant, I scorne thy threats and menaces ; Tis but temporall that thou canst inflict. Lan. The worst is death, and better die to liue, 1530 Then liue in infamie vnder such a king. Edw. Away with them, my lord of Winchester, These lustie leaders, Warwicke and Lancaster, I charge you roundly, off with both their heads. Away. 1535 War. Farewell; vaine worlde. Lan. Sweete Mortimer, farewell. Mor. iu. England, vnkinde to thy nobilitie, Grone for this greefe, behold how thou art maimed. Edw. Go, take that haughtie Mortimer to the tower, There see him safe bestowed, and for the rest, 1540 1515 PiercyD; GaustonF. 1517 Bro'er F. 1519 y'have F. 1520 Accurs'd D Dj^ O Dg ; wretch' F. 1521 messengers 34^1 ODj-R. 1525 'gainst 4 — V. 1527 in rage om. O R. 1529 It is D — V. 1530 to] than D Dj^S D^. 1531 Then] To D D-^S D^. 1534-5 1234 print as one I. EDWARD II 59 Do speedie execution on them all. Be gon. Mor. iu. What, Mortimer ? can ragged stonie walles Immure thy vertue that aspires to heauen ? Gg No, Edward, Englands scourge, it may not be ; 1545 Mortimers hope surmounts his fortune farre. Edw. Sound drums and trumpets ; marche with me, my friends. Edward this day hath crownd him king a new. Exit [with prisoners and Attendants]. Manent Spencer filius, Levune & Baldock. Spen. Levune, the trust that we repose in thee Begets the quiet of king Edwards land ; 1550 Therefore be gon in hast, and with aduice Bestowe that treasure on the lords of Fraunce, That therewith all enchaunted, like the guarde That suffered loue to passe in showers of golde To Danae, all aide may be denied 1555 To Isabell the Queene, that now in France Makes friends, to crosse the seas with her yong sonne. And step into his fathers regiment. Lev. Thats it, these Barons and the subtill Queene Long leveld at. Bald. Yea, but, Levune, thou seest 1560 These Barons lay their heads on blocks together ; What they intend, the hangman frustrates cleane. Lev. Haue you no doubts, my lords, ile clap so close Among the lords of France with Englands golde That Isabell shall make her plaints in vaine, 1565 And Fraunce shall be obdurat with her teares. Spen. Then make for Fraunce amaine ; Levune, away. Proclaime king Edwards warres and victories. Exeunt omnes. 1541-2 1234 print as one I. 1546 hopes Dj ; his ] hie 34. 1549 Lecune R. This is R's spelling henceforward ; cf. on I. 1346 ahove. 1552 pleasure misp. B. 1553 therewithal! 4. 1558 unto S. 1559 it] is 3. 1560 leuied i—R. 1563 doubte 2 — V ; claps close 1234 ; creep close O. 60 EDWARD ll Enter Edmund. Edm. Faire blowes the winde for Fraunce ; blowe, gentle gale. Till Edmund be arriude for Englands good. 1570 , Nature, yeeld to my countries cause in this. G, ' A brother, no, a butcher of thy friends, ; Proud Edward, doost thou banish me thy presence ? But ile to. Fraunce, and cheere the wronged Queene, And certifie what Edwards loosenes is. 1575 Vnnaturall king, to slaughter noble men And clre rishrflattgrers. Mortimer, Istay Thy sweet escape ; stand gratious, gloomie night, To his deuice. Enter Mortimer disguised. Mor. iu. Holla, who walketh there ? 1st you, my lord ? Edm. Mortimer, tis I. 1580 But hath thy potion wrought so happilie ? Mor. iu. It hath, my lord ; the warders, all a sleepe, I thanke them, gaue me leaue to passe in peace ; But hath your grace got shipping vnto Fraunce ? Edm. Feare it not. 1585 Exeunt. Enter the Queene and her sonne. Qu. A, boye, our friends do faile vs all in Fraunce : The lords are cruell, and the king vnkinde. What shall we doe ? Prince. Madam, retume to England, And please my father well ; and then a Fig For all my vnckles frienship here in Fraunce. 1590 I warrant you, ile winne his highnes quickUe ; A loues me better than a thousand Spencers. 1579 Holloa CF. 1578-81 Thy . . . happilie 1234 print as 2 ll., dividing after device, lord. 1581 thy] my/?. 1584 into 4. 1585 Fear't F. 1588 doe] goe 3. 1592 A] He D—R CWP. EDWARD II 61 Qu. A, boye, thou art deceiude at least in this, To thinke that we can yet be tun'd together. No, no, we iarre too farre ; vnkinde Valoys, 1595 Vnhappie Isabell, when Fraunce reiects. Whether, O whether doost thou bend thy steps ? Enter sir lohn of Henolt. S. loh. Madam, what cheere ? Qu. A, good sir John of Henolt, Gg Neuer so cheereles, nor so farre distrest. S. loh. I heare, sweete lady, of the kings vnkindenes ; 1600 But droope not, madam, noble mindes contemne Despaire ; will your grace with me to Henolt ? And there stay times aduantage with your sonne ? How say you, my Lord, will you go with your friends, And shake off all our fortunes equallie ? 1605 Prin. So pleaseth the Queene my mother, me it likes. The king of England, nor the court of Fraunce, Shall haue me from my gratious mothers side Till I be strong enough to breake a staffe. And then haue at the proudest Spencers head. 1610 Sir lohn. Well said, my lord. Qu. Oh, my sweet hart, how do I mone thy wrongs ! Yet triumphe in the hope of thee, my ioye. Ah, sweete sir lohn, euen to the vtmost verge Of Europe, or the shore of Tanaise, 1615 Will we with thee ; to Henolt ? so we will. The Marques is a noble Gentleman ; His grace, I dare presume, will welcome me. But who are these ? Enter Edmund and Mortimer. Edm. Madam, long may you liue, 1604 m'Lord F. 1605 shake off] share of Br ; our] your R. 1606 please FTM. 1607 nor] not DDjS D^. 1612 wrong DjDg. 1614 e'en F. 1615 or] on D3 D4. 1616 WiU we] We will RCWBEPV. 1618 dare om. D. 1619 who] what D, 62 EDWARD II Much happier then your friends in England do. 1620 Qu. Lord Edmund, and Lord Mortimer ahue. Welcome to Fraunce ! the newes was heere, my lord, That you were dead, or very neare your death. Mor. iu. Lady, the last was truest of the twaine. But Mortimer, reserude for better hap, 1625 Hath shaken off the thraldome of the tower. And hues t' aduance your standard, good my lord. Prin. How meane you, and the king my father lines ? No, my lord Mortimer, not I, I trow. Hj Qu. Not, Sonne ? why not ? I would it were no worse. 1630 But, gentle lords, friendles we are in Fraunce. Mor. iu. Mounsier le Grand, a noble friend of yours, Tould vs at our arriuall all the newes : How hard the nobles, how vnkinde the king Hath shewed himself ; but, madam, right makes roome 1635 Where weapons want ; and, though a many friends Are made away, as Warwick, Lancaster, And others of our partie and faction. Yet haue we friends, assure your grace, in England, Would cast vp cappes, and clap their hands for ioy, 1640 To see vs there, appointed for our foes. Edm. Would all were well, and Edward well reclaimd For Englands honor, peace, and quietnes. Mort. [iu.] But by the sword, my lord, it must be deseru'd. The king will nere forsake his flatterers. 1645 S. loh. My Lords of England, sith the vngentle king Of Fraunce refuseth to giue aide of armes To this distressed Queene his sister heere. Go you with her to Henolt ; doubt yee not We will finde comfort, money, men, and friends 1650 Ere long, to bid the Enghsh king a base. 1627 to 34 5. 1628 and] anCWP- 1636 want] won't DD^SD^RK ; wont OCP ; a] so D—R C P. 1638 partie] part DgD^CW' PPM. 1644 'tD^—V. 1646 th' jDJDiO— F. 1651 abase4— P. EDWARD II 63 How say, yong Prince, what thinke you of the match ? Prin. I thinke King Edward will out-run vs all. Qu. Nay, sonne, not so ; and you must not discourage Your friends that are so forward in your aide. 1655 Edm. Sir lohn of Henolt, pardon vs I pray ; These comforts that you giue oiir wofuU queene Binde vs in kindenes all at your commaund. Qu. Yea, gentle brother ; and the God of heauen Prosper your happie motion, good sir lohn. 1660 Mor. iu. This noble gentleman, forward in armes. Was borne, I see, to be our anchor hold. Hj Sir lohn of Henolt, be it thy renowne That Englands Queene and nobles in distresse Haue beene by thee restored and comforted. 1665 5. lohn. Madam, along, and you my lord, with me, That Englands peeres may Henolts welcome see. [Exeunt.] Enter the king, Arundell, the two Spencers, with others. E^w. Thus, after many threats of wrathfuU warre, fTriumpheth Englands Edward with his friends ; }And triumph Edward with his friends vncontrould. 1670 My lord of Gloster, do you heare the newes ? Spen. iu. What newes, my lord ? E^. Why, man, they say there i_s great execution JpLoiie through the realme ; my lord of Arundell, "^ou haue the note, haue you not ? 1675 Arun. From the lieutenant of the tower, my lord. Edw. I pray let vs see it ; what haue we there ? Read it, Spencer. Spencer reads their names. Why so, they barkt a pace a month a goe, 1652 How] Now CWP; yong] you OR; say'st D^D^EV; you om. 3 ; march misp. D. 1666 lords D^D^BEV. 1 670 his ow. C TF P. 1674 In this line 1234 have correctly Arundell. 1677-8 I . . . Spencer F. prints as one I., contracting let's, see't, read't. 1679 a month] not long 34 O. N 64 EDWARD II Now, on my life, theile neither barke nor bite. 1680 Now, sirs, the newes from Fraunce ? Gloster, I trowe The lords of Fraunce loue Englands gold so well, As Isabell gets no aide from thence. What now remaines ? haue you proclaimed, my lord. Reward for them can bring in Mortimer? 1685 Spen. iu. My lord, we haue, and if he be in England, A will be had ere long, I doubt it not. Edw. If, doost thou say ? Spencer, as true as death. He is in Englands ground ; our port-maisters Are not so careles of their kings commaund. 1690 Enter a Poaste. How now, what newes with thee ? from whence come these ? Post. Letters, my lord, and tidings foorth of Fraunce To you, my lord of Gloster, from Levune. H3 Edward. Reade. 1694 Spencer reades the letter. My dutie to your honor promised, &c. I haue, according to instructions in that behalfe, dealt with the king of Fraunce his lords, and effected, that the Queene, all discontented and discomforted, is gone, — whither if you aske, with sir lohn of Henolt, brother to the Marquesse, into Flaunders ; with them are gone lord Edmund and the lord Mortimer, hauing in their company diuers of your nation, and others ; and as con- stant report goeth, they intend to giue king Edward battell in England, sooner then he can looke for them ; this is all the newes of import. Your honors in all seruice, Levune. Edw. A, villaines, hath that Mortimer escapt ? With him is Edmund gone associate ? 1705 And will sir lohn of Henolt lead the round ? 1683 Isabella D3 — K B— V ; no more aid F. 1687 A] He D—R CWP. 1691 comes O P. 1693 lords misp. Di. 1694 *-^- letters 34 D^- 1695 praemised 2 — Br. 1696 affected D^ D^. EDWARD II 65 Welcome, a Gods name, Madam, and your sonne. England shall welcome you, and all your route. Gallop a pace, bright Phcebus, through the skie. And duskie night, in rustie iron carre, 1710 Betweene you both, shorten the time, I pray. That I may see that most desired day When we may meet these traitors in the field. Ah, nothing greeues me but my little boye Is thus misled to countenance their ils. 1715 Come, friends, to Bristow, there to make vs strong. And windes, as equall be to bring them in. As you iniurious were to beare them foorth. [Exeunt.'l Enter the Queene, her sonne, Edmund, Mortimer, and sir lohn. Qu. Now, lords, our louing friends and countrimen, Welcome to England all with prosperous windes. H4 1720 Our kindest friends in Belgia haue we left. To cope with friends at home ; a heauie case When force to force is knit, and sword and gleaue In ciuill broiles makes kin and country men Slaughter themselues in others, and their sides 1725 With their owne weapons gorde ; but whats the helpe ? Misgouerned kings are cause of all this wrack. And Edward, thou art one among them all. Whose loosnes hath betrayed thy land to spoyle. And made the channels ouerfiow with blood, 1730 Of thine own people patro shouldst thou be. But thou — Mor. iu. Nay, madam, if you be a warriar. Ye must not grow so passionate in speeches. Lords, sith that we are, by sufferance of heauen, 1735 1707 a'DjTAf/ o' D^ W. 1710 duskie] dusty ORCW P. 1713 those ORCW. 1716 Bristol D—R K. 1724 make 2— F. 1^26 gore D—RCW F E P V. 1727 wreck D—RDn—V. zj^o Kndi\Wh.oRD^— KB EP; channell 2 — V. 1731-2 Of . . . thou 12:^4 print as one I. 1734 Ye] You D3D1KBETMV. 1735 that om. CWP. 66 EDWARD II Arriued and armed in this princes right, Heere for our countries cause sweare we to him All homage, fealtie, and forwardnes. And for the open wronges and iniuries Edward hath done to vs, his Queene, and land, 1740 We come in armes to wrecke it with the swords ; That Englands queene in peace may reposesse Her dignities and honors ; and withall We may remooue these flatterers from the king. That hauocks Englands wealth and treasurie. 1745 S. lo. Sound trupets, my lord, & forward let vs martch ; Edward will thinke we come to flatter him. Edm. I would he neuer had bin flattered more. [Exeunt.'\ Enter the King, Baldock, and Spencer the sonne, flying about the stage. Spe. Fly, fly, my Lord, the Queene is ouer strong, Her friends doe multiply and yours doe fayle. 1750 Shape we our course to Ireland, there to breath. Edw. What, was I borne to flye and runne away, H5 And leaue the Mortimers conquerers behind ? Giue me my horse, and lets r'enforce our troupes, And in this bed of honors die with fame. 1755 Bal. O no, my lord, this princely resolution Fits not the time ; away, we are pursu'd. [Exeunt.] Edmund alone with a sword and target. Edm. This way he fled, but I am come too late. Edward, alas, my hart relents for thee. Proud traytor Mortim^x^ why doost thou chase 1760 ThyTawfuirEng, thy soueraigne, with thy sword ? Vilde wretch, and why hast thou, of all vnkinde, 1 741 swordea— F. 1744 those ORCW P. 1745 havock D — K B—V. 1746 m'lord F. 1754 reinforce D—K E— V {see note), and om. D—R CFTPM ; let us F r Af . 1755 honor 2— V. 1762 Vile D—R D^—K E— V. EDWARD II 67 Borne armes against thy brother and thy king ? Raigne showers of vengeance on my cursed head, Thou God, to whom in iustice it belongs 1765 To punish this vnnaturall reuolt. Edward, this Mortimer aimes at thy hfe. O, fly him then ; but, Edmund, cahne this rage ; Dissemble, or thou diest ; for Mortimer And Isahell doe kisse while they conspire. 1770 And yet she beares a face of loue forsooth. Fie on that loue that hatcheth death and hate ! Edmund, away. Bristow to Longshankes blood Is false ; be not found single for suspect : Proud Mortimer pries neare into thy walkes. ^775 Enter the Queene, Mortimer, the young Prince, and Sir lohn of Henolt. Qu. Successful! battells giues the God of kings To them that fight in right and feare his wrath. Since then succesfuUy we haue preuayled, Thankes be heauens great architect and you, Ere farther we proceede, my noble lordes, Hg 1780 We heere create our welbeloued sonne. Of loue and care vnto his royall person, Lord warden of the realme ; and sith the fates Haue made his father so infortunate, Deale you, my lords, in this, my louing lords, 1785 As to your wisdomes fittest seemes in all. Edm. Madam, without offence if I may aske. How will you deale with Edward in his fall ? Prince. Tell me, good vnckle, what Edward doe you meane ? Edm. Nephew, your father, I dare not call him king. 1790 Mor. [iu.] My lord of Kent, what needes these questions ? Tis not in her controulment, nor in ours, 1764 my] thy CP. 1771 End misp. 2. 1773 Bristol D^—R. 1775 unto B E V. 1776 Successfulls 23 ; battel 2 — V. 1778 successively 4. 1779 Thankt 23 F ,- Thanked 4D—R; Thanked D^—KB—V; the heaven's F. 1784 unfortunate 4 D—R. 1790 fa'er F. 68 EDWARD II But as the realme and parlement shall please, So shall your brother be disposed of. — I like not this relenting moode in Edmund, 1795 Madam ; tis good to looke to him betimes. [Aside to the Queen.'] Qu. My lord, the Maior of Bristow knows our mind ? Mor. [iu.] Yea, madam ; and they scape not easilie That fled the feeld. Qu. Baldock is with the king ; A goodly chauncelor, is he not, my lord ? 1800 S. loh. So are the Spencers, the father and the sonne. Edm. This Edward is the ruine of the realme. Enter Rice ap Howell, and the Maior of Bristow, with Spencer the father. Rice. God saue Queene Isahell, & her princely sonne. Madam, the Maior and Citizens of Bristow, In signe of loue and dutie to this presence, 1805 Present by me this traitor to the state, Spencer, the father to that wanton Spencer, That, like the lawles Catiline of Rome, H, Reueld in Englands wealth and treasurie. Qu. We thanke you all. Mart. iu. Your louing care in this 1810 Deserueth princeHe fauors and rewardes. But wheres the king and the other Spencer fled ? Rice. Spencer the sonne, created earle of Gloster, Is with that smoothe toongd schoUer Baldock gone. And shipt but late for Ireland, with the king. 1815 Mor. iu. Some whirle winde fetche them backe, or sincke them all. — [Aside.] They shalbe started thence, I doubt it not. Prin. Shall I not see the king my father yet ? 1797 Bristol Dy—R K. 1798 scapt 3. 1801 th' father F. 1802 OD^D^W MT ass. to Y. Mor. F places commas after this and Edward, and adds s.d. To the Prince. 1804 Bristol Di—R K. 1812 th' F. EDWARD II 69 Edmund. Vnhappies Edward, chaste from Englands bounds [Aside.] S. loh. Madam, what resteth, why stand ye in a muse ? 1820 Qu. I rue my lords ill fortune, but, alas. Care of my countrie cald me to this warre. Mort. [iu.] Madam, haue done with care & sad complaint ; Your king hath wrongd your countrie and himself e. And we must seeke to right it as we may. 1825 Meane while, haue hence this rebell to the blocke. Your lordship cannot priuiledge your head. Spen. pa. Rebell is he that fights against his prince ; So fought not they that fought in Edwards right. Mort. [iu.] Take him away, he prates ; you. Rice ap howell, 1830 [Exeunt Attendants with the elder Spencer.] Shall do good seruice to her Maiestie, Being of countenance in your countrey here. To follow these rebellious runnagates. — We in meane while, madam, must take aduise How Baldocke, Spencer, and their complices 1835 May in their fall be followed to their end. Exeunt omnes. Enter the Abbott, Monkes, [and in disguise] Edward, [the younger] Spencer, and Baldocke. Abbot. Haue you no doubt, my Lorde, haue you no feare ; Hg As silent and as careful! wiU we be. To keepe your royail person safe with vs. Free from suspect, and fell inuasion 1840 Of such as haue your maiestie in chase. Your selfe, and those your chosen companie, As daunger of this stormie time requires. Edwa. Father, thy face should harbor no deceit. 1819 Vnhappies] Unhappy D—K E—V; Unhappy is F. 1820 ye] you D^—K BEPMV. 1827 Your . . . head om. 2 — V. 1828 his] the ■z—V, 1835 complicies >wjs^. 2. 1838 we will 2 — V. 1842 Your . . . companie om. DO. 70 EDWARD II O, hadst thou euer beene a king, thy hart, 1845 Pierced deeply with sence of my distresse, Could not but take compassion of my state. Stately and proud, in riches and in traine, Whilom I was, powerfuU and full of pompe. But what is he, whome rule and emperie 1850 Haue not in life or death made miserable ? Come, Spencer, come, Baldocke, come, sit downe by me ; Make triall now of that philosophie That in our famous nurseries of artes Thou suckedst from Plato, and from Aristotle. 1855 Father, this life contemplatiue is heauen. O, that I might this life in quiet lead. But we, alas, are chaste, and you, my friends. Your hues and my dishonor they pursue. Yet, gentle monkes, for treasure, golde, nor fee, i860 Do you betray vs and our companie. Monks. Your grace may sit secure, if none but wee doe wot of your abode. Spen. Not one aliue, but shrewdly I suspect A gloomie fellow in a meade belowe ; 1865 A gaue a long looke after vs, my lord ; And all the land I know is vp in armes, I, Armes that pursue our hues with deadly hate. Bald. We were imbarkt for Ireland, wretched we. With awkward windes and sore tempests driuen 1870 To fall on shoare, and here to pine in feare Of Mortimer and his confederates. Edw. Mortimer, who talkes of Mortimer ? Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer, That bloudy man ? good father, on thy lap 1875 1846 a-sense D—RCWFBEP. 1850 empire Z). 1852 Spencer, come] Spencer CWFP. 1853 that om. 3 ; thy ^ ORCWFP. 1855 suck'st D— i?. 1862 O R D^—KB—V ass. to Monk oy First Monk. 1866 A] He D—R C W P. 1870 with sore 4 Dg D^ ; sore] surly D ; tempest O R. 1872 confiderates misp. 2. EDWARD II 71 Lay I this head, laden with mickle care. 0, might I neuer open these eyes againe, Neuer againe hft vp this drooping head, 0, neuer more Hft vp this dying hart ! Spen. son. Looke vp, my lord. — Baldock, this drowsines i88o Betides no good ; here euen we are betraied. Enter, with Welch hookes, Rice ap Howell, a Mower, and the Earle of Leicester. Mower. Vpon my life, those be the men ye seeke. Rice. Fellow, enough ; my lord, I pray be short ; A faire commission warrants what we do. Lei. The Queenes commission, vrgd by Mortimer. 1885 What cannot gaUant Mortimer with the Queene ? — Alas, see where he sits, and hopes vnseene T'escape their hands that seeke to reaue his life. Too true it is : quem dies vidit veniens superbum, Hunc dies vidit fugiens iacentem. 1890 But, Leister, leaue to growe so passionate. — Spencer and Baldocke, by no other names, I arrest you of high treason here. Stand not on titles, but obay th'arrest ; Tis in the name of Isabell the Queene. — 1895 My lord, why droope you thus ? Edw. O day ! the last of all my blisse on earth, 1 2 Center of all misfortune. O, my starres ! Why do you lowre vnkindly on a king ? Comes Leister then in Isabellas name 1900 To take my life, my companie from me ? Here, man, rip vp this panting brest of mine. And take my heart, in reskew of my friends. 1877 ope 3 — V. 1881 even here O RCW P; s.d., ap] up i ; of om. 2. 1882 these 2— V. 1886 gallant om. 34 D^—R; doe with 4O R. 18S8 ToCWBEPV. 1893 IdoORCWFBEPV. 1894 the SCWEPV. 1900 Come 2 O F; Came 34 ; commas after comes and Leister OF; Isabel's O. 72 EDWARD II Rice. Away with them. Sfen. iu. It may become thee yet To let vs take our farewell of his grace. 1905 Abh. My heart with pity eames to see this sight : A king to beare these words and proud commaunds. Edw. Spencer, a, sweet Spencer, thus then must we part. Spen. iu. We must, my lord, so will the angry heauens. Edw. Nay, so will hell, and cruell Mortimer, 1910 The gentle heauens haue not to do in this. Bald. My lord, it is in vaine to greeue or storme ; Here humblie of your grace we take our leaues ; Our lots are cast, I feare me so is thine. Edwa. In heauen wee may, in earth neuer shall wee meete ; 1915 And, Leister, say, what shall become of vs ? Leist. Your maiestie must go to KiUingworth. Edw. Must ! tis somwhat hard when kings must go. Leist. Here is a Litter readie for your grace. That waites your pleasure, and the day growes old. 1920 Rice. As good be gon, as stay and be benighted. Edw. A Utter hast thou ? lay me in a hearse, And to the gates of hell conuay me hence. Let Plutos bels ring out my fatall kneU, And hags howle for my death at Charons shore. 1925 For friends hath Edward none but these and these. And these must die vnder a tyrants sword. Rice. My lord, be going ; care not for these, 1 3 For we shaU see them shorter by the heads. Edw. Well, that shalbe, shalbe ; part we must. 1930 Sweete Spencer, gentle Baldocke, part we must. Hence, fained weeds, vnfained are my woes. [Throwing off disguise.] 1906 yearns D—R CWTP. 1908 a, om. DORCWP; oh F. 191 1 in] with S. 1915 ne'er D — V. 1918 it is D3—V. 1922 in] on 34 C P. 1926 friend CWFBP; [hapless] Edward CW P ; and these om. 2)3 D^CWE P. 1927 And these om. D—R K. 1930 that] what DOR; that that F. EDWARD II 73 Father, farewell ; Leister, thou staist for me, And go I must ; life, farewell with my friends. Exeunt Edward and Leicester. Spen. iu. O, is he gone ! is noble Edward gone, 1935 Parted from hence, neuer to see vs more ? Rent, sphere of heauen, and fier, forsake thy orbe. Earth, melt to ayre, gone is my soueraigne, Gone, gone, alas, neuer to make retume. Bald. Spencer, I see our soules are fleeted hence ; 1940 We are depriude the sun-shine of our life. Make for a new life, man ; throw vp thy eyes, And hart and hand to heauens immortall throne. Pay natures debt with cheerefuU countenance. Reduce we all our lessons vnto this : 1945 To die, sweet Spencer, therefore liue wee all ; Spencer, all liue to die, and rise to fall. Rice. Come, come, keepe these preachments till you come to the place appointed. You, and such as you are, haue made wise worke in England. Will your Lordships away ? Mower. Your worship, I trust, will remember me ? 195 1 Rice. Remember thee, fellowe ? what else ? Follow me to the towne. [Exeunt^ Enter the king, Leicester, with a Bishop [Hereford] for the crowne, [and Trussel]. Lei. Be patient, good my lord, cease to lament. Imagine Killingworth castell were your court, 1 4 1955 And that you lay for pleasure here a space. Not of compulsion or neccissitie. Edw. Leister, if gentle words might comfort me. Thy speeches long agoe had easde my sorrowes, 1934 s-d- Leicester] Lancaster 234. 1937 Rend D—RKE. 1940 fleeting 2— F. 1943 hands CW BE PV. 1948-50 1234 print as 3 complete II., dividing after appointed and England. 1948 th' F. 1950 your Lordships] you F. 1951 worship] lordship 2 — V. 1957 oi] for O R. 1959 sorrow T. 74 EDWARD II For kinde and louing hast thou alwaies beene. i960 The greefes of priuate men are soone allayde. But not of kings : the forrest Deare being strucke Runnes to an herbe that closeth vp the wounds ; But when the imperiall Lions flesh is gorde, He rends and teares it with his wrathful! pawe, 1965 [And] highly scorning that the lowly earth Should drinke his bloud, mounts vp into the ayre. And so it fares with me, whose dauntlesse minde The ambitious Mortimer would seeke to curbe, And that vnnaturall Queene, false Isahell, 1970 That thus hath pent and mu'd me in a prison. For such outragious passions cloye my soule As with the wings of rancor and disdaine Full often am I sowring up to heauen To plaine me to the gods against them both. 1975 But when I call to minde I am a king, Me thinkes I should reuenge me of the wronges That Mortimer and Isabell haue done. But what are kings, when regiment is gone. But perfect shadowes in a sun-shine day ? 1980 My nobles rule, I beare the name of king, I weare the crowne, but am contrould by them. By Mortimer and my vnconstant Queene, Who spots my nuptiall bed with infamie Whilst I am lodgd within this caue of care, 1985 Where sorrow at my elbow still attends To companie my hart with sad laments, That bleedes within me for this strange exchange. Is But tell me, must I now resigne my crowne To make vsurping Mortimer a king ? 1990 Bish. Your grace mistakes, it is for Englands good [" 1964 th' F. 1966 [And] om. 1234. 1967 into] to 2— CK B— V; th' DD^ODt R. 1969 th' DD^O—D^KFTM. 1972 cloye] claw D O. 1974 oft 2—SD^Dr^K; to high D—R. 1977 the] my 234 D^— V. EDWARD II 75 And princely Edwards right, we craue the crowne. Edw. No, tis for Mortimer, not Edwards head ; For hees a lambe, encompassed by Woolues Which in a moment will abridge his life. 1995 But if proud Mortimer do weare this crowne, Heauens turne it to a blaze of quenchlesse fier. Or like the snakie wreathe of Tisiphon, Engirt the temples of his hatefull head ! So shall not Englands Vines be perished, 2000 But Edwards name suruiues, though Edward dies. Lei. My lord, why waste you thus the time away ? They stay your answer : will you yeeld your crowne ? Edw. Ah, Leister, way how hardly I can brooke To loose my crowne and kingdome without cause, 2005 To giue ambitious Mortimer my right. That like a mountaine ouerwhelmes my blisse. In which extreame my minde here murthered is. But what the heauens appoint I must obaye. Here, take my crowne ; the life of ^i^iaoxii.too ; 2010 ^Yaking off the crown.] Tavo kiagyin* EngiaT td ' e ann e4.-i:§igne atjj^ce. But stay a while, let me be king tiiTnight, That I may gaze vpon this glittering crowne. So shall my eyes receiue their last content. My head, the latest honor dew to it, 2015 And ioyntly both yeeld vp their wished right. Continue euer, thou celestiall sunne. Let neuer silent night possesse this clime. Stand stiU, you watches of the element, AU times and seasons, rest you at a stay, 2020 That Edward may be still faire Englands king. Ig But dayes bright beames dooth vanish fast away, 1997 Heav'n ORCWFP. 2000 Vine O R— W F— Br. 2001 suruies 3 ; suruiue 4— F T PM. 2008 extreams 34 Dj_— i? CWK. 2009 what] that 234 D^D^KFTPM. 2012 be om. 2. 2022 beame 2 — V. 76 EDWARD II And needes I must resigne my wished crowne. Inhumaine creatures, nurst with Tigers milke. Why gape you for your soueraignes ouerthrow ? 2025 My diadem, I meane, and guiltlesse hfe. See, monsters, see, ile weare my crowne againe. What, feare you not the furie of your king ? [Resuming the crown.] But, haplesse Edward, thou art fondly led ; They passe not for thy frownes, as late they did, 2030 But seekes to make a new elected king. Which fils my mind with strange despairing thoughts. Which thoughts are martyred with endles torments ; And in this torment comfort finde I none. But that I feele the crowne vpon my head. 2035 And therefore let me weare it yet a while. Tru. My Lorde, the parlement must haue present newes, And therefore say,_^^ilL-y&u- resigne or no ? Edw. lie not resigne ; but, whilst I liue. Traitors, be gon, and ioine you with Mortimer. 2040 Elect, conspire, install, do what you will ; Their bloud and yours shall scale these treacheries. Bish. This answer weele returne, and so farewell. [Going.] Leist. Call them againe, my lorde, and speake them faire. For if they goe, the prince shall lose his right. 2045 Edward. Call thou them back, I haue no power to speake. Lei. My lord, the king is willing to resigne. Bish. If he be not, let him choose. Edw. O, would I might ; but heauens & earth conspire To make me miserable : teere, receiue my crowne^ Ij 2050 Receiue it ? no, these innocent handsTDtmine Shall not be guiltie of so foule a crime. 2031 seeke4— P'. 2033 martyr'd jD Z)^ Dj. 2037 O ass. to Bish. ; D Dj^D^R ass. to Trusty. 2039 but] not 34CWP V; live] be king D—D^ K— T M Br. 2040 and om. CWP; you om. D — RK. 2041 conspire] confirm D^S R. 2049 heav'n D—R. EDWARD II 77 He of you all that most desires my bloud, And will be called the murtherer of a king, Take it : what, are you mooude, pitie you me ? 2055 Then send for vnrelenting Mortimer, And Isabell, whose eyes, being turnd to Steele, WiU sooner sparkle fire then shed a tearei Yet stay, for rather then I will looke on them Heere, heere ; now, sweete God of heauen, 2060 [Giues the crown.] Make me despise this transitorie pompe. And sit for aye inthronized in heauen. i Come, death, and with thy fingers close my eyes ; !0r if I liue, let me forget my selfe. Bish. My lorde, — 2065 Edw. Call me not lorde ; away, out of my sight. Ah, pardon me, greefe makes me lunatick. Let not that Mortimer protect my sonne. More safetie is there in a Tigers iawes Then his imbrasements ; beare this to the queene, 2070 Wet with my teares, and dried againe with sighes. [Giues a handkerchief.] If with the sight thereof she be not mooued, Retume it backe and dip it in my bloud. Commend me to my sonne, and bid him rule Better then I ; yet how haue I transgrest, 2075 Vnlesse it be with too much clemencie ? Tru. And thus most humbly do we take our leaue. [Exeunt Bishop and Trussel.] Edward. Farewell ; I know the next newes that they bring 2057 being] beene i. 2059 I'll D^—V. 2062 aye] ever DORCWFP; inthroniz'd DD^OD^RCF. 2064 I — D^K add s.d. Enter Bartley. 2065 J—D^OD^K ass. to Bartley. 2066-7 Call . . . Iwaa.tic^TZ'^i^ print as three complete II., dividing after lorde and me. 2069 there is z—SD^ D^ D^ K—TM V. 2070 Then] This misp. i ; embracement D^. 2077 ass. to Bish. ; Dt^D^R ass. to Trusty. 78 EDWARD II Will be my death ; and welcome shall it be. Is To wretched men death is felicitie. 2080 Leist. An other poast, what newes bringes he ? Enter Bartley. Edw. Such newes as I expect ; come, Bartley, come. And tell thy message to my naked brest. Bart. My lord, thinke not a thought so villanous Can harbor in a man of noble birth. 2085 To do your highnes seruice and deuoire. And saue you from your foes, Bartley would die. Leist. My lorde, the counsell of the Queene commaunds That I resigne my charge. Edw. And who must keepe mee now ? must you, my lorde ? 2090 Bart. I, my most gratious lord, so tis decreed. Edw. By Mortimer, whose name is written here. [Taking the paper. "l Well may I rent his name that rends my hart. [Tearing the paper.] This poore reuenge hath something easd my minde. So may his limmes be tome as is this paper. 2095 Heare me, immortall loue, and graunt it too. Bart. Your grace must hence with mee to Bartley straight. Edw. Whether you will ; all places are ahke. And euery earth is fit for buriall. Leist. Fauor him, my lord, as much as lieth in you. 2100 Bart. Euen so betide my soule as I vse him. Edw. Mine enemie hath pitied my estate, And thats the cause that I am now remooude. Bartley. And thinkes your grace that Bartley will bee cruell ? Edw. I know not ; but of this am I assured, 2105 That death ends all, and I can die but once. — Leicester, farewell. 2081 s.d. 1234 place this after 2064. 2088 of] and 34 Dj S Dg -fir / command S. 2093 rend D—RE. 2094 has BEV. 2096 immorrall misp. 3. 2100 m'lord F. 2101 E'en F. 2102 Mine] My 34. EDWARD II 79 Leicester. Not yet, my lorde, ile beare you on your waye. K^ Exeunt omnes. Enter Mortimer, and Queene Isabell. Mor. iu. Faire Isabell, now haue we our desire. The,proud corrupters of the light-brainde king 2110 Haue Sbnetheir homage to the loftie gallowes, \ And he himselfe Kes in captiuitie. >^ Be rulde by me, and we will rule the realme. In any case, take heed of childish feare ; For now we hould an old Wolfe by the eares, 2115 That if he slip will seaze vpon vs both. And gripe the sorer, being gript himselfe. Thinke therefore, madam, that imports vs much To erect your sonne with aU the speed we may, And that I be protector ouer him, 2120 For our behoofe will beare the greater sway When as a kings name shall be vnderwrit. Qu. Sweet Mortimer, the Hfe of Isabell, Be thou perswaded that I loue thee well. And therefore, so the prince my sonne be safe, 2125 Whome I esteeme as deare as these mine eyes. Conclude against his father what thou wilt. And I my selfe will wilhnglie subscribe. Mort. iu. First would I heare newes that hee were deposde. And then let me alone to handle him. 2130 Enter Messenger. Kj Mor. iu. Letters, from whence ? Messen. From Killingworth, my lorde. Qu. How fares my lord the king ? Messen. In health, madam, but full of pensiuenes. Queene. Alas, poore soule, would I could ease his greefe. 2115 eare 34. 21 1 8 that] it DORDgCW P; that it KB; that't F; vs] as 12D1D2. 2119 T'erect F; elect O ; withall 123. 2121 twill 34Dj— B T P M V; S places semi-colon after behoofe. 2129 the news S W; that am. 2— D4 W— TMV. o 80 EDWARD II [Enter Bishop of Winchester with the crown.] Thankes, gentle Winchester ; sirra, be gon. 2135 [Exit Messenger.] Winchester. The king hath wiUingly resignde his crowne. Qu. O, happie newes, send for the prince my sonne. Bish. Further, or this letter was sealed. Lord Bartley came, , So that he now is gone from KilUngworth ; And we haue heard that Edmund laid a plot 2140 To set his brother free, no more but so. The lord of Bartley is so pitifull As Leicester that had charge of him before. Qu. Then let some other be his guardian. Mor. iu. Let me alone, here is the priuie seale. 2145 Whose there ? call hither Gurney and Matreuis. — To dash the heauie headed Edmunds drift, Bartley shall be dischargd, the king remooude. And none but we shall know where he heth. Qu. But, Mortimer, as long as he suruiues, 2150 What safetie rests for vs, or for my sonne ? Mort. iu. Speake, shall he presently be dispatch'd and die ? Queene. I would hee were, so it were not by my meanes. Enter Matreuis and Gurney. K3 Mortim. iu. Inough. — Matreuis, write a letter presently Vnto the Lord of Bartley from our selfe, 2155 That he resigne the king to thee and Gurney, And when tis done, we will subscribe our name. Matr. It shall be done, my lord. [Writes.] Mort. iu. Gurney. Gum. My Lorde. Mort. iu. As thou intendest to rise by Mortimer, Who now makes Fortunes wheele tume as he please, 2160 2138 or] ere Z) O i? C W F P; letter om. CWFP.' 2142 so^asORCWE P; om. S. 2149 And where he Heth none but we shall know F ; see note. 2153 so't D O RCW F P; 'twere DiS I)^D^D^K B ET M V. 2159 intend'st D^SD^D^—V. EDWARD II 81 Seeke all the meanes thou canst to make him droope, And neither giue him kinde word nor good looke. Gum. I warrant you, my lord. Mort. iu. And this aboue the rest : because we heare That Edmund casts to worke his libertie, 2165 Remooue him still from place to place by night, Till at the last he come to Killingworth, And then from thence to Bartley back againe ; And by the way, to make him fret the more, Speake curstlie to him, and in any case 2170 Let no man comfort him if he chaunce to weepe. But amplifie his greefe with bitter words. Matre. Feare not, my Lord, weele do as you commaund. Moy. iu. So now, away, post thither wards amaine. Qu. Whither goes this letter, to my lord the king ? 2175 Commend me humblie to his Maiestie, And tell him that I labour all in vaine To ease his greefe, and worke his libertie. And beare him this, as witnesse of my loue. K4 [Gives ring.] Matre. I will, madam. 2180 Exeunt Matreuis and Gurney. Manent Isabell and Mortimer. Enter the yong Prince, and the Earle of Kent talking with him. Mar. iu. Finely dissembled ; do so still, sweet Queene. Heere comes the yong prince, with the Earle of Kent. Qu. Some thing he whispers in his childish eares. Mort. iu. If he haue such accesse vnto the prince. Our plots and stratagems will soone be dasht. 2185 Queen. Vse Edmund friendly, as if all were well. Mor. iu. How fares my honorable lord of Kent ? Edmun. In health, sweete Mortimer ; — how fares your grace ? Queene. Well, if my Lorde your brother were enlargde. 2161 can P. 2164 we om. S. 2167 Till] And i. 2175 Whi'er F. 82 EDWARD II Edm. I heare of late he hath deposde himselfe. 2190 Queen. The more my greefe. Mortim. iu. And mine. Edmun. Ah, they do dissemble. [Aside.] Queen. Sweete sonne, come hither, I must talke with thee. Mortim. iu. Thou, being his vnckle, and the next of bloud, 2195 Doe looke to be protector ouer the prince. Edm. Not I, my lord ; who should protect the sonne But she that gaue him life, I meane the Queene ? Prin. Mother, perswade me not to weare the crowne ; Kg Let him be king ; I am too yong to raigne. 2200 Queene. But bee content, seeing it his highnesse pleasure. Pvin. Let me but see him first, and then I will. Edmund. I, do, sweete Nephew. Quee. Brother, you know it is impossible. Prince. Why, is he dead ? 2205 Queen. No, God forbid. Edmun. I would those wordes proceeded from your heart. Mort. iu. Inconstant Edmund, doost thou fauor him. That wast a cause of his imprisonment ? Edm. The more cause haue I now to make amends. 2210 Mort. iu. I tell thee tis not meet that one so false Should come about the person of a prince. — [To the queen.] My lord, he hath betraied the king his brother. And therefore trust him not. Prince. But hee repents, and sorrowes for it now. 2215 Queen. Come, sonne, and go with this gentle Lorde and me. Prin. With you I will, but not with Mortimer. Mort. iu. Why, yongling, s'dainst thou so of Mortimer ? Then I will carrie thee by force away. Prin. Helpe, vnckle Kent, Mortimer will wrong me. 2220 Quee. Brother Edmund, striue not, we are his friends. 2195 Thou] You 2— V. 2196 o'er D— V. 2201 itis34Dj— i?; 'tisD^—V; pleasures P. 2208 doest 234. 2218 dain'st Z);disdain'st S O. 2221 we're F. EDWARD II 88 Isabell is neerer then the earle of Kent. Edm. Sister, Edward is my charge, redeeme him. Queen. Edward is my sonne, and I will keepe him. Edmun. Mortimer shall know that he hath wrongde mee. 2225 Hence will I haste to Killingworth castle, And rescue aged Edward from his foes, K* To be reuengde on Mortimer and thee. [Aside.] Exeunt omnes. Enter Matreuis and Gurney with the king. Matr. My lord, be not pensiue, we are your friends ; Men are ordaind to liue in miserie. 2230 Therefore, come, dalliance dangereth our hues. Edw. Friends, whither must vnhappie Edward go ? Will hatefuU Mortimer appoint no rest ? Must I be vexed like the nightly birde. Whose sight is loathsome to all winged fowles ? 2235 When will the furie of his minde asswage ? When wiU his hart be satisfied with bloud ? If mine will serue, vnbowell straight this brest. And giue my heart to Isabell and him : It is the chief est marke they leuell at. 2240 Gurney. Not so, my liege ; the Queene hath giuen this charge. To keepe your grace in safetie. Your passions make your dolours to increase. Edw. This vsage makes my miserie increase. But can my ayre of life continue long 2245 When all my sences are anoyde with stenche ? Within a dungeon Englands king is kept, Where I am steru'd for want of sustenance : 2222 Isabel's F. 2225 wrongM DsD^KBETMV. 2229 so pensive PF; we're F. 2242 [Only] to C PF F P. 2243 dolours] choler D — R , to otn. 4. 2244 to increase BETV. 2248 starv'd D—K B— V. 84 EDWARD II My daily diet is heart breaking sobs. That almost rents the closet of my heart ; 2250 Thus Hues old Edward not relieu'd by any, And so must die, though pitied by many. K7 water, gentle friends, to coole my thirst, And cleare my bodie from foule excrements. Matr. Heeres channel! water, as our charge is giuen ; 2255 Sit downe, for weele be Barbars to your grace. Edw. Traitors, away, what, will you murther me. Or choake your soueraigne with puddle water ? Gum. No, but wash your face, and shaue away your beard, Least you be knowne, and so be rescued. 2260 Matr. Why striue you thus ? your labour is in vaine. Edward. The Wrenne may striue against the Lions strength. But all in vaine ; so vainely do I striue To seeke for mercie at a tyrants hand. They wash him with puddle water, and shaue his beard away. Immortall powers, that knowes the painfull cares 2265 That waites vpon my poore distressed soule, ' O leuell all your lookes vpon these daring men ,' That wronges their liege and soueraigne, Englands king. / O Gaueston, it is for thee that I am wrongd ; For me, both tliou and both tlie Spencers died ; 2270 And for your sakes a thousand wronges ile take. The Spencers ghostes, where euer they remaine. Wish well to mine ; then tush, for them ile die. Matr. Twixt theirs and yours shall be no enmitie. Come, come, away ; now put the torches out ; 2275 Weele enter in by darkenes to Killingworth. Enter Edmund. Gum. How now, who comes there ? 2250 rend D—R; rent D^—EP V. 2255 our] your BEV. 2265 knowD— XPM. 2266 vfa.it D—K E P M. 2267 all om. CW FP. 2268 wrong D—K P M. 2269 Gauston F ,- 'tis CW FBEPV. 2276 darkenes] dark F. 2277 there] here O. EDWARD II 85 Matr. Guarde the king sure, it is the earle of Kent. Kg Edw. O gentle brother, helpe to rescue me. Matr. Keepe them a sunder, thrust in the king. 2280 Edm. Souldiers, let me but talke to him one worde. Gur. Lay hands vpon the earle for this assault. Edmu. Lay downe your weapons, traitors, yeeld the king. Matr. Edmund, yeeld thou thy selfe, or thou shalt die. Edmu. Base villaines, wherefore doe you gripe mee thus ? 2285 Gurney. Binde him, and so conuey him to the court. Edm. Where is the court but heere ? heere is the king, And I will visit him, why stay you me ? Matr. The court is where lord Mortimer remaines ; Thither shall your honour go ; and so, farewell. 2290 Exeunt Matr. and Gurney, with the king. Manent Edmund and the souldiers. Edm. 0, miserable is that commonweale, Where lords keepe courts, and kings are lockt in prison ! Sould. Wherefore stay we ? on, sirs, to the court. Edm. I, lead me whether you will, euen to my death. Seeing that my brother cannot be releast. 2295 Exeunt omnes. Enter Mortimer alone. Mort. iu. The king must die, or Mortimer goes downe ; The commons now begin to pitie him. Yet he that is the cause of Edwards death, Is sure to pay for it when his sonne is of age. And therefore will I do it cunningHe : 2300 This letter, written by a friend of ours, L^ Containes his death, yet bids them saue his life. Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est : Feare not t9 kill the king, tis good he die ; But read it thus, and thats an other sence : 2305 2282 this] his 2—V. 2284 shall F. 2286 Binde] Blind O ; so om. R. 2290 Thi'er F. 2292 Where lords 1234 place at end of preceding I. 2294 whi'er F; e'en F. 2299 for't F; son's D— V. 86 EDWARD II Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est : Kill not the king, tis good to feare the worst. Vnpointed as it is, thus shall it goe, That, being dead, if it chaunce to be found, Matreuis and the rest may beare the blame, 2310 And we be quit that causde it to be done. Within this roome is lockt the messenger That shall conueie it, and performe the rest ; And by a secret token that he beares, Shall he be murdered when the deed is done. 2315 Lightborn, come forth ; art thou as resolute as thou wast ? [Enter Lightborn.] Light. What else, my lord ? and farre more resolute. Mort. iu. And hast thou cast how to accomplish it ? Light. I, I, and none shall know which way he died. Mortim. iu. But at his lookes, Lightborne, thou wilt relent. 2320 Light. Relent, ha, ha, I vse much to relent. Mort. iu. Well, do it brauely, and be secret. Light. You shall not need to giue instructions. Tis not the first time I haue killed a man : I learnde in Naples how to poison flowers, 2325 To strangle with a lawne thrust through the throte, To pierce the wind-pipe with a needles point. Or, whilst one is a sleepe, to take a quill And blowe a little powder in his eares. Or open his mouth and powre quick siluer downe. 2330 But yet I haue a brauer way then these. Mort. iu. Whats that ? L2 Light. Nay, you shall pardon me, none shall knowe my trickes. Mort. iu. I care not how it is, so it be not spide. Dehuer this to Gurney and Matreuis. 2335 \_Gives letter.] 2316 as resolute] so resolute 2 — V. 2326 through] down 34 D^D^C W E—V. 2327 a] the B. 2331 But] And BEV. 2334 'tis F. EDWARD II 87 At euery ten miles end thou hast a horse. Take this, away, and neuer see me more. [Gives money.] Lightborne. No ? Mori. iu. No, vnlesse thou bring me newes of Edwards death. Light. That will I quicklie do ; farewell, my lord. 2340 [Exit.] Mor. [j'w.] The prince I rule, the queene do I commaund. And with a lowly conge to the ground. The proudest lords salute me as I passe. I seale, I canceU, I do what I will. Feard am I more then lou'd : — let me be feard, 2345 And when I frowne, make all the court looke pale. I view the prince with Aristorchus eyes, Whose lookes were as a breeching to a boye. They thrust vpon me the Protectorship, And sue to me for that that I desire ; 2350 While at the councell table, graue enough. And not vnlike a bashfull puretaine. First I complaine of imbecilitie. Saying it is onus quam grauissimum ; Till, being interrupted by my friends, 2355 Suscepi that frouinciam, as they terme it. And to conclude, I am Protector now. Now aU is sure, the Queene and Mortimer Shall rule the realme, the king ; and none rule vs. Mine enemies will I plague, my friends aduance, 2360 And what I list commaund, who dare controwle ? Maior sum quam cui possit fortuna nocere. L3 And that this be the coronation day. It pleaseth me and Isabell the Queene. [Trumpets within.] The trumpets sound, I must go take my place. 2365 2336 mile 23 D— V. 2350 that that] that which D—R. 2352 paretaine 12. 2359 rule us] rules us 234 FBETMV. 2360 Mine] My 0. 88 EDWARD II Enter the yong King^Bishop, Champion, Nobles, Queene. Bish. Long Vsvi^^ng Edward, by the grace of God King of England, and lorde of Ireland. Cham. If any Christian, Heathen, Turke, or lew, Dares but afhrme that Edwards not true king. And will auouche his saying with the sworde, 2370 I am the Champion that wiU combate him. Mort. iu. None comes ; sound trumpets. \Trumpets sound.'] King. Champion, heeres to thee. Qu. Lord Mortimer, now take him to your charge. Enter Souldiers with the Earle of Kent prisoner. Mar. iu. What traitor haue wee there with blades and billes ? Sould. Edmund, the Earle of Kent. King. What hath he done ? 2375 Sould. A would haue taken the king away perforce, As we were bringing him to KiUingworth. Mortimer iu. Did you attempt his rescue, Edmtmd ? speake. Edm. Mortimer, I did ; he is our king, And thou compelst this prince to weare the crowne. 2380 Mort. iu. Strikeoff his head, he shall haue marshalllawe. L4 Edm. Strike of my head, base traitor, I defie thee. King. My lord, he is my vnckle, and shall hue. Mor. iu. My lord, he is your enemie, and shall die. Edmund. Stale, viUaines. 2385 King. Sweete mother, if I cannot pardon him, Intreate my lord Protector for his life. Qu. Sonne, be content, I dare not speake a worde. King. Nor I, and yet me thinkes I should commaund. But seeing I cannot, ile entreate for him. — 2390 My lord, if you will let my vnckle line, I will requite it when I come to age. Mort. iu. Tis for your highnesse good, and for the realmes. — How often shall I bid you beare him hence ? Edm. Art thou king, must I die at thy commaund ? 2395 2369 Dare ORCW F— V. 2371 with him B. 2376 A] He D~R CWFP; ta'en F. 2395 a king 34. EDWARD II 89 Mort. iu. At our commaund ; — once more, away with him. Edm. Let me but stay and speake ; I will not go. Either my brother or his sonne is king, And none of both them thirst for Edmunds bloud ; And therefore, soldiers, whether will you hale me ? 2400 They hale Edmund away, and carte him to be beheaded. King. What safetie may I looke for at his hands, If that my Vnckle shall be murthered thus ? Queen. Feare not, sweete boye, ile garde thee from thy foes : Had Edmund liu'de, he would haue sought thy death. Come, sonne, weele ride a hunting in the parke. 2405 King. And shall my Vnckle Edmund ride with vs ? Queene. He is a traitor, thinke not on him ; come. Lg Exeunt omnes. Enter Matr. and Gurney. Matr. Gurney, I wonder the king dies not. Being in a vault vp to the knees in water. To which the channels of the castell runne, 2410 From whence a dampe continually ariseth That were enough to poison any man. Much more a king brought vp so tenderlie. Gum. And so do I, Matreuis ; yesternight I opened but the doore to throw him meate, 2415 And I was almost stifeled with the sauor. Matr. He hath a body able to endure More then we can enflict, and therefore now Let vs assaile his minde another while. Gum. Send for him out thence, and I will anger him. 2420 Matr. But stay, whose this ? Enter Lightborne. Light. My lord protector greetes you. {Gives letter.] Gum. Whats heere ? I know not how to conster it. Matr. Gurney, it was left vnpointed for the nonce. 2399 And neither of them SOR ; them] then misp. 13. 2408 that the F. 2410 Bastell misp. 34 ; runs 4. 2420 I'll F. 2423 construe 2 — V. 2424 'twas F. 90 EDWARD II Edwardum occidere nolite timere, 2425 Thats his meaning. Light. Know you this token ? I must haue the king. [Gives token.] Matr. I, stay a while ; thou shalt haue answer straight. — {Confers aside with Gurney.] This villain's sent to make away the king. Gurney. I thought as much. Matr. And when the murders done, Lg 2430 See how he must be handled for his labour : Pereat iste ; let him haue the king, What else ? — heere is the keyes, this is the lake. Doe as you are commaunded by my lord. Light. I know what I must do, get you away ; 2435 Yet be not farre off, I shall need your helpe ; See that in the next roome I haue a fier. And get me a spit, and let it be red hote. Matre. Very well. Gurn. Neede you any thing besides ? Light. What else ? a table and a fetherbed. 2440 Gurn. Thats all ? Light. I, I ; so, when I call you, bring it in. Matre. Feare not you that. Gurn. Heeres a light to go into the dungeon. Lightbor. So ; — now 2445 Must I about this geare ; nere was there any So finely handled as this king shalbe. — Foh, heeres a place in deed, with all my hart. Edward. Whose there, what light is that, wherefore comes thou? Light. To comfort you, and bring you ioyfuU newes. 2450 2427 yeD—RCWBEPV. 2433 lake] lock EM (see note) ; key V. 2438 spit] spet 2. 2440 What else ? om. D—R CW P. 2443 you] thou 2— F. 2444 Here is F T; to om. O RCW P ; these also place a semicolon after light. 2445 1234 place at beginning of next I. 2449 light's F ; com'st 2 — V. EDWARD II 91 Edward. Small comfort findes poore Edward in thy lookes. Villaine, I know thou comst to murther me. Light. To murther you, my most gratious lorde ? Farre is it from my hart to do you harme. The Queene sent me to see how you were vsed, 2455 For she relents at this your miserie. And what eyes can refraine from shedding teares. To see a king in this most pittious state ? Edw. VVeepst thou already ? list a while to me, L, And then thy heart, were it as Gurneys is, 2460 Or as Matreuis, hewne from the Caucasus, Yet will it melt, ere I haue done my tale. This dungeon, where they keepe me, is the sincke Wherein the filthe of all the castell falles. Light. O villaines ! 2465 Edw. And there in mire and puddle haue I stood This ten dayes space ; and least that I should sleepe. One plaies continually vpon a Drum. They giue me bread and water, being a king, So that for want of sleepe and sustenance 2470 My mindes distempered and my bodies numde. And whether I haue limmes or no, I know not. 0, would my bloud dropt out from euery vaine As doth this water from my tattered robes. Tell Isabell the Queene I lookt not thus 2475 When for her sake I ran at tilt in Fraunce, And there vnhorste the duke of Cleremont. Light. 0, speake no more, my lorde ; this breakes my heart. Lie on this bed, and rest your selfe a while. Edw. These lookes of thine can harbor nought but death. 2480 I see my tragedie written in thy browes. Yet stay a while ; forbeare thy bloudie hande And let me see the stroke before it comes. That and euen then when I shall lose my life, 2461 th' F. 2462 it will F. 2467 day' R. 2473 drop DD^SD^ R. 2474 tottered ^Dy^S D^. 2477 Claremont K. 2484 and om. D — Br. 92 EDWARD II My minde may be more stedfast on my God. 2485 Light. What meanes your highnesse to mistrust me thus ? Edwa. What meanes thou to dissemble with me thus ? Light. These handes were neuer stainde with iimocent bloud, Ls Nor shall they now be tainted with a kings. Edward. Forgiue my thought for hauing such a thought. 2490 One iewell haue I left ; receiue thou this. {Giving jewel.] Still feare I, and I know not whats the cause, But euerie iointe shakes as I giue it thee. 0, if thou harborst murther in thy hart. Let this gift change thy minde, and saue thy soule. 2495 Know that I am a king ; oh, at that name I feele a hell of greefe ; where is my crowne ? Gone, gone, and doe I remaine ahue ? Light. Your ouerwatchde, my lord ; lie downe and rest. Edw. But that greefe keepes me waking, I should sleepe ; 2500 For not these ten dales haue these eyes lids closd. Now as I speake they fall, and yet with feare Open againe : O, wherefore sits thou heare ? Light. If you mistrust me, ile be gon, my lord. Edw. No, no, for if thou meanst to murther me, 2505 Thou wilt returne againe, and therefore stay. [Lies down.] Light. He sleepes. Edw. O let me not die, yet stay, O stay a while. Light. How now, my Lorde ? Edw. Something still busseth in mine eares, 2510 2487 mean'st 2 D— V. 2490 my thought] my fau't F. 2494 harbourest E V. 2498 still remain DODgD^WFE ; alive om. 34 D^SDtR C. 2500 greefe keepes] thou keep'st O. 2501 eye-lids 4— if S—M. 2503 sitt'st D—K B—V. 2508 yet stay] yet i^D^D^EPM. 2509 m'lord F. 2510 buzz' F. EDWARD II 93 And tels me, if I sleepe I neuer wake. This feare is that which makes me tremble thus, And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come ? Light. To rid thee of thy life. — Matreuis, come. Edw. I am too weake and feeble to resist. — 2515 Assist me, sweete God, and receiue my soule. Light. Runne for the table. Mj Edw. O, spare me, or dispatche me in a trice. [Matreuis brings in a table.] Light. So, lay the table downe, and stampe on it ; But not too hard, least that you bruse his body. 2520 Matreuis. I feare mee that this crie will raise the towne. And therefore let vs take horse, and away. Light. Tell me, sirs, was it not brauelie done ? Gum. Excellent well ; take this for thy rewarde. Then Gurney stabs Lightborne. Come, let vs cast the body in the mote, 2525 And beare the kings to Mortimer our lord. Away. Exeunt omnes. Enter Mortimer and Matreuis. Mortim. iu. 1st done, Matreuis, and the murtherer dead ? Matr. I, my good Lord ; I would it were vndone. Mort. iu. Matreuis, if thou now growest penitent, 2530 He be thy ghostly father ; therefore choose. Whether thou wilt be secret in this. Or else die by the hand of Mortimer. Matr. Gurney, my lord, is fled, and will, I feare. Betray vs both ; therefore let me flie. 2535 Mort. iu. Fhe to the Sauages. Matr. I humblie thanke your honour. {Exit.] Mar. iu. As for my selfe, I stand as loues huge tree, 2520 least that you] least thou R C W F ; lest that thou P. 2523 it] is 2 ; [th] is F. 2530 now om. 34 ; grow'st D^D^KFT MV. 2536 th' F. 94 EDWARD II And others are but shrubs compard to me. All tremble at my name, and I feare none. 2540 Lets see who dare impeache me for his death ! Enter the Queene. Mj Queen. A, Mortimer, the king my sonne hath news His fathers dead, and we haue murdered him. Mor. iu. What if he haue ? the king is yet a childe. Queene. I, I, but he teares his haire, and wrings his handes, 2545 And vowes to be reuengd vpon vs both. Into the councell chamber he is gone To craue the aide and succour of his peeres. Aye me, see where he comes, and they with him. Now, Mortimer, begins our tragedie. 2550 Enter the king, with the lords. Lords. Feare not, my lord ; know that you are a king. King. Villaine. Mort. iu. How now, my lord ? King. Thinke not that I am frighted with thy words. My father's murdered through thy treacherie, 2555 And thou shalt die, and on his mournefull hearse Thy hatefull and accursed head shall he. To witnesse to the world that by thy meanes His kingly body was too soone interrde. Qu. Weepe not, sweete sonne. 2560 King. Forbid not me to weepe, he was my father. And had you lou'de him halfe so well as I, You could not beare his death thus patiently. But you, I feare, conspirde with Mortimer. Lords. Why speake you not vnto my lord the king ? 2565 Mor. iu. Because I thinke scorne to be accusde. 2542 A] Oh O. 2545 I, I] Ay O D^— W F— V. 2549 AhmeDD-^OD^RCWP. 2553 How] Ho 2 D3 1)4 if — r Af F. 2554 frightened O R. 2559 too] so Dj^ S D^. 2561 me not BE P. 2566 think it E V; be so S. EDWARD II 95 Who is the man dare say I murderedd him ? M3 King. Traitor, in me my louing father speakes, And plainely saith, twas thou that murdredst him. Mori. iu. But hath your grace no other proofe then this ? 2570 King. Yes, if this be the hand of Mortimer. [Showing letter.] Mortim. iu. False Gurney hath betraide me and himselfe. [Aside to the queen.] Queen. I feard as much, murther cannot be hid. [Aside to Mortimer.] Mart. iu. Tis my hand ; what gather you by this ? King. That thither thou didst send a murtherer. 2575 Mart. iu. What murtherer ? bring foorth the man I sent. King. A, Mortimer, thou knowest that he is slaine ; And so shalt thou be too ; — ^why staies he heere ? Bring him vnto a hurdle, drag him foorth. Hang him, I say, and set his quarters vp, 2580 But bring his head back presently to me. Queen. Formy sake, sweete sonne, pittie Mortimer. Mart. iu. Madam, intreat not ; I will rather die Then sue for hfe vnto a paltrie boye. King. Hence with the traitor, with the murderer. 2585 plort. iu. Base fortune, now I see that in thy wheele There is a point, to which when men aspire. They tumble hedlong downe ; that point I touchte, "-And seeing there was no place to mount vp higher, Why should I greeue at my decUning fall ? — 2590 Farewell, faire Queene, weepe not for Mortimer, That scornes the world, and as a traueUer Goes to discouer countries yet vnknowne. King. What, suffer you the traitor to delay ? [Mortimer is taken out to execution.] 2567 dares 2—D^KBE V. 2569 murdrest 2— D^ D^; murderest O R; murdered S; murderedst I>3 ; murder'dst D^~KB— V. 2570 has BEV. 2574 It is D3 D4 W— TMV. 2577 A] Ay DD^OD^RCWPP; know'stD—F TPM. P 96 EDWARD II Queen. As thou receiuedst thy Ufe from me, 2595 Spill not the bloud of gentle Mortimer. M4 King. This argues that you spilt my fathers bloud, Els would you not intreate for Mortimer. Queen. I spill his bloud ? no. King. I, madam, you, for so the rumor runnes. 2600 Queen. That rumor is vntrue ; for louing thee Is this report raisde on poore Isabell. King. I doe not thinke her so vnnaturall. Lords. My lord, I feare me it will prooue too true. King. Mother, you are suspected for his death, 2605 And therefore we commit you to the Tower, Till further triall may be made thereof. If you be guiltie, though I be your sonne, Thinke not to finde me slack or pitifull. Qu. Nay, to my death, for too long haue I liued, 2610 ', When as my sonne thinkes to abridge my dales. King. Awaye with her, her wordes inforce these teares. And I shall pitie her if she speake againe. Queen. Shall I not moorne for my beloued lord ? And with the rest accompanie him to his graue ? 2615 Lords. Thus, madam, tis the kings wiU you shall hence. Quee. He hath forgotten me ; stay, I am his mother. Lords. That bootes not ; therefore, gentle madam, goe. Queen. Then come, sweete death, and rid me of this greefe. [Exit with Attendants. Mortimer's head is brought in.] Lords. My lord, here is the head of Mortimer. 2620 King. Goe fetche my fathers hearse, where it shall lie. And bring my funerall robes ; accursed head, [Exeunt Attendants.] Could I haue rulde thee then, as I do now, M5 Thou hadst not hatcht this monstrous treacherie ! — Heere comes the hearse fTSelpeme to moorne, my lords. 2625 2595 receivedest D3— V. 2599 no om. 34. 2607 farther D—R C W F— V; may om. 34. 2615 his] the 34. 2617 forgot F. EDWARD II 97 [Re-enter Attendants, with hearse, etc.] Sweete father, heere vnto thy murdered ghost I offer vp this wicked traitors head. And let these teares, distiUing from mine eyes, Be witnesse of my greefe and innocencie. [Exeunt.] FINIS. Imprinted at London for William Ihones, and are to he solde at his shop, neere vnto Houlborne Conduit. 1594. 2626 ghost] head O. 2627 head] ghost O. 2629 innocence D — R K. LIST OF IMPORTANT DATES Edward II bom . . ... 1284 Betrothed to Isabella . . ... 1303 Gaveston first banished . ... 1307 Death of Edward I, and accession of Edward II . . 1307 Gaveston returns and is made Earl of Cornwall . . 1307 Betrothal of Gaveston to Margaret of Gloucester. . 1307 Imprisonment of Langton, Bishop of Coventry . . 1307 Marriage of Edward and Isabella of France . . 1308 Gaveston banished a second time, and made Regent of Ireland . . ... 1308 Gaveston returns . . ... 1309 Meeting of the Barons and estabUshment of a Regency 1310 Gaveston banished for the third time . . . 131 1 Gaveston returns secretly . ... 131 1 War breaks out between the Barons and Edward . 1312 Gaveston is taken prisoner and put to death . . 1312 Prince Edward bom . . ... 1312 Battle of Bannockburn . . . .1314 The younger Despenser becomes favourite . . c. 1319 Banishment of the Despensers . . . 1321 Edward's campaign against the Barons . . . 1321-2 Lancaster beheaded, and the Mortimers imprisoned 1322 Mortimer the younger escapes . ... 1324 Kent goes to France . ... 1325 Isabella goes to France, ostensibly as Edward's repre- sentative . . ... 1325 Prince Edward, to do homage for the Duchy of Aquitaine, goes to France . ... 1325 Isabella and her supporters land in England . . 1326 99 100 EDWARD II The two Despensers and Baldock put to death, and Edward II taken . ... 1326 Edward II deposed, and Prince Edward crowned Edward III . . ... 1327 Edward II murdered . ... 1327 Kent put to death . ... 1330 Mortimer hanged . . ... 1330 The extracts from Holinshed in the following notes are taken from the edition of 1586. The references to the works of Kyd, Peele, Lyly, Greene, and Shakespeare are to the following editions respectively : Boas, Bullen, Bond, Dyce, and The Globe. Passages from the other works of Marlowe are always cited according to Tucker Brooke's edition, unless otherwise stated. The various editors of Edward II are referred to in accordance with the list earlier given. No particular attempt has been made to point out how Marlowe differed from his sources. The point is touched upon in a few places, and a general discussion of it is contained in the Introduction, but inasmuch as full extracts are given from Holinshed and his other authorities, it did not seem necessary to take up the minuter details of the question. NOTES I. My father is deceasi. Scene i. A street in London, see 1. 10 (Dyce). The early editions do not mark act and scene divisions, which are first made in ed. of 1826. Dyce returned to the practice of the quartos, giving, however, scene divisions and locations in his notes. Most later editors follow the 1826 edition in making divisions. AU such divisions are merely conjectural when not recorded in early copies. It is not always easy to determine for plays of Marlowe's period just what the value of an act division was as regards the performance of the drama. There is little to indicate the use of the intermission as a means of regulating the progress of the action and the development of the plot, as at present (see the article cited Introduction, p. Ixxix , n. 2). We cannot prove in the case of Edward II that Marlowe thought of his material as divisible into distinct blocks, each filling an act. Act divisions occur in Tamburlaine, The Jew of Malta, and Dido, but not in Faustus or The Massacre at Paris. In dividing Edward II modern editors are compelled to make acts of very unequal lengths ; thus iii. is less than half as long as i. and v., and iv. is but little more than half as long. Where we do find such divisions in Marlowe, however, the acts are more nearly uniform in length, there being only one act (2 Tamb., ii.) that is very short as compared with other acts in the same play. Fischer seems to think, Kunstent- wicklung der Engl. Tragodie, 145 ff., that because Edward II falls more or less naturally into five subdivisions, therefore Marlowe had divided it into acts coincident with these sub- divisions. But the inference is not necessarily correct. Luick, for instance, objects to the divisions Fischer makes ' im Sinne Gustav Freytags,' and proposes others {Festgabe fUr Heinzel, 185). Marlowe has omitted to dramatize the first banishment of Gaveston. " In the three and thirtith yeare of his reigne, king Edward put his sonne prince Edward in prison, bicause that he had riotousUe broken the parke of Walter Langton bishop of 103 104 EDWARD II Chester ; and bicause the prince had doone this deed by the procurement of a lewd and wanton person, one Peers Gavaston, an esquire of Gascoine, the king banished him the realme, least the prince, who dehghted much in his companie, might by his evill and wanton counsel! fall to evill and naughtie rule." Holinshed, 313. See note, 1. 82. 3. Surfet with delight. Of this unpleasant figure Marlowe appears to have been fond ; compare the instances cited by Carpenter, Metaphor and Simile in the Minor Eliz. Drama, 1895, 45 {Tamburlaine, 2721 ; Faustus, 24-5, 106, 1367 ; Massacre at Paris, 959-60, 1166-7). 5. The favorit of a king. Tzschaschel, Marlowe's Edward II und seine Quellen, 1902, p. 34, criticizes Marlowe because he has not an3^where made clear to us why Edward should have so deep an affection for Gaveston. " The poet does not teU us," he says, " that Gaveston had been Edward's youthful associate, or that he had deserved the prince's lasting gratitude by render- ing him any service." " So fehlt der Grundlage des Ganzen die rechte Natiirlichkeit und Wahrscheinlichkeit." Certainly this is excessive blame. A dramatist is not bound to supply a logically formulaited first cause to account for the passions of his characters, any more than our friends are bound to demon- strate to our satisfaction why they marry the women they do. The explanation demanded is to be looked for in Edward's own character (compare Introduction, p. cv-cvi). If we find there, as it seems to me we do, that Gaveston's position as favourite rests upon Edward's imperious craving for personal friendship, Marlowe does everything perhaps that we can ask by making us feel that element in the king's nature strongly. If, again, the favourite can give, as Gaveston does give, what the prince craves, it is idle to insist that we are not made to understand their relation. We understand why Hamlet's mother married Claudius, yet we are not given much information of the kind here asked for. Tzschaschel's criticism is probably ultimately derived from Ulrici, Shakespeare's Dram. Art (Bohn translation, II, 322), and is of a piece with that writer's other strictures upon Edward II. 8. Leander. The story of Hero and Leander is one of the most famous of Greek love-stories. Leander dwelt at Abydos on the Hellespont, opposite Sestos, where dwelt Hero, a priestess of Aphrodite. They became enamoured of each other, and NOTES 105 Leander swam the Hellespont nightly in the pursuit of ' Venus' nun,' as Marlowe calls Hero in his translation of a Greek poem long attributed to the old poet Musaeus, but now known to belong to a later time than his. In that translation Leander did not ' gasp upon the sand,' however. " By this Leander being nere the land. Cast downe his wearie feet, and felt the sand. Breathlesse albeit he were, he rested not," etc. Hero and Leander, Sest. ii., 227-9. 14. Die. It will be noticed that most modern editors have followed the reading ' he,' introduced by Scott. Tancock suggests that ' die ' was possibly a " misprint caused by the i of ' dear ' in the Une above," and thinks that BuUen's inter- pretation of ' die ' as equivalent to ' swoon ' makes poor sense. Bullen, however, is undoubtedly correct ; the quartos are unanimous in their reading, and ' die ' is constantly used in Elizabethan literature in this signification. The word ' hfeless ' as applied to a person in a swoon has hardly yet gone out of use. Compare Antony and Cleopatra, I, ii. 144 ff.: "Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly ; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment." Gaveston means : upon whose bosom let me swoon with pleasure. The relation between Gaveston and the king is one of friendship ; yet Marlowe constantly puts into the mouths of Gaveston and Edward the language of love (compare the ' amorous ' of I. 6, and the whole tone of 11. 400-37), thereby giving characteristic expression to the effeminate and yet passionate natiure of the king. Taken thus, the line not merely yields excellent sense, but pays tribute to Marlowe's power of characterization. 16. What neede. Franz, Shakespeare-Grammatik, 1900, p. 157, remarks the frequent use of ' what ' as equivalent to ' why ' in questions to which the speaker expects a negative answer corresponding to his own attitude or sentiments. Especially frequent is its occurrence with the verb ' need,' as in 11. 247, 777. Artick. This seems to be the regular form in the Marlowe quartos (cf. Tamburlaine, 2354). The latest example of this form given in N.E.D. is from 1678. Incidentally, Marlowe takes a less pleasing view of the Arctic regions in Tamburlaine, 17-19 : " the bounds Of Europe, wher the Sun dares scarce appeare,'! For freezing meteors and coniealed colde." 106 EDWARD II i8. Base stooping. ' Base ' is used in its original sense of ' low ' (Fr. 6as), with, however, doubtless a glance at its secondary meaning of ' ignoble.' Compare Richard II, III, iii. 180-1 : " In the base court ? Base court, where kings grow base, " To come at traitors' calls and do them grace." « 20-1. Sparkes, Rakt up in embers. No figure is more common in EUzabethan literature than this, yet none, I suppose, has passed more completely out of use. In fact, the figure is not perfectly clear to readers of the present day unless they re- member that our ancestors were not able to light fires as readily as we are, and their practice was to preserve the fire on the hearth from day to day by raking the ashes over the glowing coals at night. 22. Tanti: — Ilefanne firsi on thewinde. Dyce and other editors think that " something has dropped out from this line," but it is not necessary to take this view, as there are a number of similar lines in the play (cf. 25, 49, 50, 208, 798, 867, 941, 950, 1218, 1270). Most of these can be read with four accents, though some of them scan with difficulty. See the note on 26 below. The frequency of lines of four feet in Greene's work is noted by Brereton, Elizabethan Drama, 1909, 23. ' Tanti ' is an expression of contempt (gen. sing, of iantum), ' so much for that.' It was very common in the Ehzabethan period, and N.E.D. gives one or two instances from the nine- teenth century. ' Fan ' is, according to N.E.D. , a dialectical form of ' fawn,' though it is not given in the Dialect Dictionary. Elsewhere we have ' fawn,' 11. 439, 440. ' Fanne ' may easily be a misprint for ■ faune,' a quite possible Elizabethan spelling. 24. But how now, what are these ? A very interesting parallel to the following passage is noted by Tancock from Lear, I, iv. 10 f£. Kent in disguise offers himself to Lear's service, and the latter asks him questions of a character much like those asked by Gaveston. Compare also Greene's James IV, I, ii., in which Ateukin hires Nano, Slipper, and Andrew. An element of humour only suggested in Gaveston's lines is present in the other scenes, and all are founded directly upon the everyday life of Elizabethan London. 26-30. What canst thou doe . . . do well. This passage is typical of Marlowe's frequent practice of introducing in rapid NOTES 107 dialogue one or more short lines that cannot be considered as parts of a regular pentameter and that often can be scanned with great difficulty, if at all. These often take the character of exclamations ; sometimes they are repHes to servants, and the like. They serve to lend vividness to a passage, though they tend to destroy its rhythmical quahty. Compare 11. 201, 219, 282-3, 435. 438, etc. See notes on 22, 167, and on all these exceptional scansions. Compare Schipper, De Versu Marlovii, 1867, 18-21 ; Mayor, Chapters on English Metre, 2nd ed., igoi, 162-7. 31. At my trencher. Fleay thinks that these words are an interpolation, on the ground that they spoil the metre. Schipper, U.S., however, has pointed out in Tamburlaine the existence of hnes with six accents. If we could transpose ' to wait ' to the end of 1. 30, both lines would be given five accents. 35. Hospitals. These were homes for disabled soldiers. 40. Porpintine, i.e. porcupine. The word appears in various forms in earlier literature, such as ' porkpin,' ' porpin,' ' pur- pintine,' ' porkenpick,' etc. ; the superstition here referred to, which Marlowe doubtless shared, is well known. 50. These are not men for me. The following lines are an expansion of hints afforded by Holinshed (see under 1. 154), but the expansion is itself characteristic of an important aspect of Marlowe's poetic genius. "It is by right of this quahty [his ' overpowering sense of beauty '] that Marlowe claims to be the hierophant in England of that Pagan cult of beauty which characterized the Italian Renaissance. We find it in Tambur- laine's passion for Xenocrate, in the visions of Faustus and his familiars, in the description of Helen, in the jewels of Barabas, in the sports described by Gaveston in Edward II. But it is in Hero and Leander," etc. Wagner, preface to Edward II, 1871, xii-xiii. 51. Wanton Poets. These are such as would supply the ' lascivious metres ' of Richard II, II, i. 19. 55. Italian maskes. In the sixteenth century the masque was thought to have had its origin in Italy, but as a matter of fact, though subject in a degree to Italian influence, it was really native in origin (Brotanek, Die Englischen Maskenspiele, 1902). Nevertheless, though germs of the masque in the forms of so-called ' disguisings ' are to be found in the fourteenth 108 EDWARD II century, the following lines of Marlowe apply, as editors have noted, to the conditions of his own day, rather than to those of the time of Edward II, when England's relations with Italy were in the main ecclesiastical purely. Festivities such as these projected by Gaveston were exceedingly common after the accession of Elizabeth, who had a great fondness for them, and are to be found described in Laneham's Letter, edited by Furnivall in his Captain Cox, 1871, and in Gascoigne's Princely Pleasures at Kenilworth Castle. Faligan, De Marlovianis Fdbulis, 1887, 190, rather fancifuUy suggests that Elizabeth may have taken offence because Marlowe, in developing Gaveston's plans for seducing the king from the path of duty, should have enumerated " ludos et spectacula quae tunc in aula vigebant." 59. Grazing, i.e. straying over, derived from the meaning ' tending cattle while grazing.' 60. Antick hay, that is, a grotesque country dance. ' Antic,' a variant of ' antique,' passed through the meaning ' old ' to that of ' old-fashioned,' hence ' quaint, grotesque.' 61. Boye in Dians shape. There were no actresses in England at this time, and women's parts were taken by boys and youths trained for the purpose. In 1629 a troop of French actors and actresses came over, but were very ill received, so strong was the prejudice against the appearance of women on the stage. Even after the Restoration the practice of having women's parts taken by women was established in the face of great opposition. ' Shape ' means costume, and was a common word in this sense down to the nineteenth century. 63. Crownets. ' Crownet ' is a contracted form of ' coronet,' as ' crown ' is of ' corona ' and ' crowner ' of ' coroner.' Here the word is equivalent to ' bracelet,' as in the anonymous Lust's Dominion (a play that has been attributed to Marlowe, and that contains many imitations of him), I, i. : " And with coronets of pearl And bells of gold, circling their pretty arms," etc. Crawford, Collectanea, I, 2-3, 7, notes that the whole of 1. 63, except for the change of ' his ' to ' thy,' is repeated in Barnfield's Affectionate Shepherd. See Arber's reprint, p. 8. 64. Olive tree, that is, olive-branch. I have not found any parallels to this use of ' tree.' ' Tree ' is often used, dialectically NOTES 109 and otherwise, in the sense of ' cross,' ' beam,' " wood ' (i.e. the material), but not apparently in the sense of ' branch.' N.E.D, gives only the usual meaning for the compound ' ohve-tree.' 67. Act(Bon, having by chance espied Diana bathing in a spring, was by the angry goddess transformed to the likeness of a deer, and was thereupon pursued and slain by his own hounds. See Ovid, Metamorphoses, iii. 155 ff. 70. And seeme. The construction may perhaps best be under- stood by supplying ' shall ' (from 1. 68) before ' seeme.' 71-2. His maiestie. My lord. The punctuation adopted in the text is that of Tucker Brooke, and is undoubtedly correct unless we are to follow McLaughlin's suggestion that U. 72-3 are " probably a prose addition to the speech, added for dramatic purposes by another hand." Certainly these Unes cannot easily be scanned. Comes. There are hundreds of cases in EUzabethan writers in which a verb in -s or -th is found with a plural subject (e.g. either a plural noun, or a series of nouns, or a relative pronoun with a plural antecedent). The usage has been explained on the basis of the influence of the Northern dialect, in which there were -s and -th plurals (e.g. Franz, Shakespeare-Grammatik, 404). It has also been explained as due to the great predominance in daily usage of the third person singular present indicative (Smith, PuU. Mod. Lang. Ass., 1896, 363 ; but see Bang, EngUsche Studien, xxviii. 455). There is no doubt that in special cases (e.g. when as in this instance the verb precedes, or when the subject, plural in form, is singular in meaning) the verb may easily be understood as singular. In general, the problem may be stated as follows : (a) Are verbs in -s and -th with plural subjects to be classified as singulars or plurals ? (b) If singulars, what considerations governed their use ? (c) If plurals, how did Elizabethan Enghsh come to possess plurals in -s and -th ? Marlowe uses these forms frequently. In the present play, see 11. 336, 427, 653-4, 97I' 1130, 1724. 1745. 1812, 1971, 2022, 2031, 2265-6, 2268. Compare Schau, Sprache und Grammatik der Dramen Marlowes, 1901, 72-4. 73. st. dir. Mortimer senior, Mortimer junior, Edmund Earle of Kent. None of these three was concerned in the struggle against Gaveston. Edmund of Woodstock, earl of Kent, Edward's 110 EDWARD II half-brother, was not born until 1301, and was hence at this time only about six years of age. The Mortimers were powerful barons on the Welsh border, but Holinshed's narrative takes no account of them until some years after Gaveston's death. For obvious dramatic reasons Marlowe has introduced them into this part of the play and has concentrated attention upon the younger Mortimer, making him practically the leader of Gave- ston's opponents. 82. Mine unckle heere, this Earle, & I my selfe. " This erle of Lincolne was buried in the new worke at Paules [1310]. Lieng on his death bed, he requested (as was reported) Thomas earle of Lancaster, who had married his daughter, that in any wise he should stand with the other lords in defense of the commonwelth, and to mainteine his quarell against the earle of Cornewall, which request earle Thomas faithfuUie accom- pHshed : for by the pursute of him, and of the earle of Warwike cheefelie, the said earle of Cornewall was at length taken and beheaded (as after shall appeare). Some write that king Edward the first upon his death-bed, charged the earles of Lincolne, Warwike, and Penbroke, to foresee that the foresaid Peers returned not againe into England, least by his evill example he might induce his sonne the prince to lewdnesse, as before he had alreadie doone." (Holinshed, 320.) 83. Sworne. This is to be scanned ' swor(e)n.' Compare 'earl,' 156, ' Mowberie ' (Mowbray), iii, ' mushrump,' 578, ' gentrie,' 1039, ' deeply,' 1846, etc. Other csises in which a single syllable is expanded into two for metrical purposes are illustrated by ' affections,' 445, ' poniard,' 560, ' minions,' 684. In these and all similar instances Marlowe was merely employ- ing licences practised by all Elizabethan poets. 90. Mort. dieu. Foreign oaths and ejaculations were common in the mouths of Elizabethan dramatis personse ; see 1. 612. So ' corpo di deo,' Jew of Malta, 323 ; ' cazzo, diabolo,' iUd., 1528 ; ' Mor du,' i.e. ' Mort dieu,' Massacre at Paris, 694 ; ' Rivo,' I Henry IV. II, iv. 124 (compare ' Rivo CastiUano,' Jew of Malta, 1930). 91. Well, Mortimer, He make thee rue these words. Keller, Shakespeare Jahrbuch, xxxv. 22, compares with this line several similar expressions in the old Richard II, as when the angry NOTES 111 Richard, speaking of his nobles, says : " We'le make them weepe these wrongs in bloody teares." 93. Aspiring Lancaster. Tancock compares 3 Henry VI, V, vi. 61 : " What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have mounted." 102. Foure Earldomes. See note under 1534. 108. To the proofe, i.e. to the point, effectively. There is no historical basis for the following hnes, unless we are to think, with Tancock, that they are " an echo of the real quarrel between Hereford and Mowbray in the reign of Richard II." If an echo, they are a very distant one ; Richard had no love for Hereford, and there was no reconciliation. 118. Preach. In the third edition of Dodsley it was suggested to substitute ' perch.' Compare 1. 1308 and Fleay's interpreta- tion of 1. 1315. 122. / cannot, nor I will not. For the double negative, see 1. 222 ; it was good EngUsh in Marlowe's day. With the outbreak of Mortimer, compare that of Hotspur, i Henry IV, I, iii. 130 ff. : " Speak of Mortimer ! 'Zounds, I will speak of him," etc. It is indeed no rash assumption that Marlowe's Mortimer fur- nished the model for Shakespeare's Hotspur. The latter, no doubt, is the nobler figure and the better drawn, but the two conceptions are at bottom practically identical. Beyond the name Hotspur and the remark that he was a lord of a high spirit, HoHnshed supphed little for the figure of Henry Percy. Shake- speare was doubtless equal to the creation of a character like Hotspur out of sUghter hints than these ; but when we find that character anticipated in its main outlines in the work of a dramatist whose influence upon Shakespeare everyone admits to have been very great indeed, we are justified in thinking that it may not have been an entirely independent creation. 123. Cosin. The word ' cousin ' in Ehzabethan Enghsh denoted no precise degree of relationship ; Mortimer was dis- tantly related to Edward through his mother, who was " a kins- woman of Eleanor of Castile " (D.N.B.). 128. Love. Dyce's .conjecture, 'leave' for 'love,' is quite unnecessary, as Warwick's speech is to be taken ironically. Q 112 EDWARD II The same thing is to be said of his conjecture ' Lancaster ' for ' Gaveston,' in the next Hne. 134-6. / cannot brooke . . . field. With this passage Keller, Shakespeare Jahrbuch, xxxv. 23, compares the words of Richard in the old Richard II : " I cannot brooke these braues, let dromes sound death." 144. Hilas. When Hercules went with Jason and the other Greek heroes in search of the Golden Fleece, he was accom- panied by a beloved youth named Hylas. The Argonauts touched at Mysia, whereupon Hylas went on shore to draw water and was carried off by the nymphs, who fell in love with his beauty. Hercules mourned his loss with loud outcries. 145. Exile. The noun ' exile ' was often accented on the second syllable. See 11. 179, 192. So with the verb ' envy.' See 1. 163. 150. High minded, i.e. proud-minded. So ' high-minded strumpet,' i Henry VI, I, v. 12, as noted by Verity, Influence of Marlowe upon Shakespeare, Harness Prize Essay, 1886, 106. 151. I have my wish, etc. Crawford, Shakespeare Jahrbuch, xxxix. 80, compares Arden of Feversham, V, i. 342 (ed. Bayne, 1897) : " I have my wish in that I joy thy sight." Crawford remarks that " there are at least thirty passages of Arden of Feversham which were directly inspired by Marlowe's Edward II," but he gives only f om: (which will be found below in their appro- priate places). On p. 81 he says that while Soliman and Perseda " plainly imitates Edward II," " Arden of Feversham does so only in a faint manner." This difference of manner he takes on p. 82 as showing that Arden is later than Soliman and Perseda, while both are later than 1590, " before which time Edward II cannot be said to have existed." 154. Lord high Chamberlaine. " But now concerning the demeanour of this new king, whose disordered maners brought himselfe and manie others unto destruction ; we find that in the beginning of his govemement, though he was of nature given to lightnesse, yet being restreined with the prudent advertise- ments of certeine of his councellors, to the end he might shew some likehhood of good proofe, he counterfeited a kind of gravitie, vertue and modestie ; but yet he could not throughlie be so bridled, but that f oorthwith he began to plaie divers wanton NOTES 113 and light parts, at the first indeed not outragiouslie, but by little and little, and that covertlie. For having revoked againe into England his old mate the said Peers de Gaveston, he received him into most high favour, creating him earle of Cornewall, and lord of Man, his principall secretarie, and lord chamberlaine of the realme, through whose companie and societie he was suddenhe so corrupted, that he burst out into most heinous vices ; for then using the said Peers as a procurer of his disordered dooings, he began to have his nobles in no regard, to set nothing by their instructions, and to take small heed unto the good governement of the commonwealth, so that within a while, he gave himselfe to wantonnes, passing his time in voluptuous pleasture, and riotous excesse : and to helpe them forward in that kind of life, the foresaid Peers, who (as it may be thought, he had sworne to make the king to forget himselfe, and the state, to the which he was called) furnished his court with companies of jesters, ruffians, flattering parasites, musicians, and other vile and naughtie ribalds, that the king might spend both daies and nights in jesting, plaieng, banketing, and in such other filthie and dis- honorable exercises : and moreover, desirous to advance those that were like to himselfe, he procured for them honorable offices, all which notable preferments and dignities, sith they were ill bestowed, were rather to be accounted dis- honorable than otherwise, both to the giver and the receiver." HoUnshed, 318. 156. King and lord of Man. The Isle of Man lies between England and Ireland ; though from the thirteenth century dependent either upon England or Scotland, its rulers were called kings and possessed certain royal rights not totally ex- tinguished until 1829. 162. Therefore, to equall it, receive my hart. Compare Soliman and Perseda, Kyd, I, ii. 38-40 : " Let in my hart to keepe thine company. Erast. And, sweet Perseda, accept this ring To equall it : receive my hart to boote." 163-4. ^ffo^ '^^se . . . more. So Richard, in the anonymous Richard II, heaps dignities upon his favourites in opposition to the protests of the nobles. See Keller in the article cited, p. 23. 166. Fearst, i.e. fearest for, as in Richard III, I, i. 137 : " And his physicians fear him mightily." 114 EDWARD II 167. Wants thou. Compare 11. 322, 444, 2503. The sec. sing. pr. ind. ending -est often appears as -s in Elizabethan English when the verb ends in -t or when the following word begins with -th ; sometimes it is apparently due to the influence of Northern dialectical forms. See Liese, Flexion des Verbums hei Spenser, 1891, 8 ; Franz, Shakespeare-Grammatik, 1900, i. L. 167 is one of a number of nine-syllable lines in the play (compare 269, 289, 314, 315, 940, 1020, 1026, 1177, 1204, 1401, 1779, 1918, 1930, 2379, 2408, 2453, 2566, 2574, 2595). Mayor, Chapters on English Metre, 162, notes the existence of this type in Marlowe. Editors have frequently altered unnecessarily (see the variants on these hnes). Compare the note on 26 above. 171 . It shall suffice me, etc. Thus Greene, in the old Richard II, after Richard has said that he will defend his favourites against the nobles, says (see Keller, u.s., p. 23) : " Thankes, deerest lord ; lett me haue Richards loue. And like a rocke unmoud my state shall stand." 173-4. As CcBsar . . . triumphant Carre. Compare Peek's Edward I, scene i. 91 f. : " Not Caesar, leading through the streets of Rome The captive kings of conquered nations. Was in his princely triumphs honoured more," etc. This parallel is also noticed by Tzschaschel, Marlowe's Edward II, 46. 177. But is that wicked Gaveston returnd ? " Within three dales after [Edward First's body had been conveyed to the abbey of Waltham], when the lord treasurer Walter de Langton bishop of Coventrie and Lichfield (thorough whose complaint Peers de Gaveston had beene banished the land) was going towards Westminster, to make preparation for the same buriaU, he was upon commandement from the new king arrested, committed to prison, and after deUvered to the hands of the said Peers, being then returned againe into the realme, who sent him from castell to castell as a prisoner. His lands and tenements were seized to the kings use, but his mooveables were given to the foresaid Peers." (HoUnshed, 318.) 186. Saving your reverence : an expression of excuse, often contracted into ' sir-reverence.' See Merchant of Venice, II, ii. 27 : " To run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself." 188. Channell, i.e. kennel, gutter. Compare 1. 2255. NOTES 115 198. The fleete. The Fleet Prison, established in the eleventh century, was not reserved for debtors exclusively until about the middle of the seventeenth. 200. Conveie. ' Convey ' has here a double sense, that in- tended by Edward, and that recognized by the Bishop in the following line. ' To convey ' was good Elizabethan slang for ' to steal.' " ' Convey ' the wise it call," says Pistol, " ' Steal ! ' foh ! a fico for the phrase." (Merry Wives, I, iii. 32-3.) 205. Againe, that is, back, the original meaning of the word. 208. Tis true. Scene 2. London, near the king's palace (Tancock). See note on 1. 254. This scene, extending to 1. 289, and the scene beginning at 1. 295, are based upon the following paragraphs of Holinshed, 319-20, which it seemed best to print together instead of in different places : " The malice which the lords had conceived against the earle of Cornewall still increased, the more indeed through the high bearing of him, being now advanced to honour. For being a goodhe gentleman and a stout, he would not once yeeld an inch to any of them, which worthilie procured him great envie amongst the cheefest peeres of all the realme, as sir Henrie Lacie earle of Lincolne, sir Guie earle of Warwike, and sir Aimer de Valence earle of Penbroke, the earles of Glocester, Hereford, Anindell, and others, which upon such wrath and displeasure as they had conceived against him, thought it not convenient to suffer the same any longer, in hope that the kings mind might happilie be altered into a better purpose, being not altogither converted into a venemous disposition, but so that it might be cured, if the corrupter thereof were once banished from him. " Hereupon they assembled togither in the parlement time [1308], at the new temple, on saturdaie next before the feast of saint Dunstan, and there ordeined that the said Peers should abjure the realme, and depart the same on the morrow after the Nativitie of saint John Baptist at the furthest, and not to returne into the same againe at any time then after to come. To this ordinance the king (although against his will) bicause he saw himselfe and the realme in danger, gave his consent, and made his letters patents to the said earles and lords, to witnesse the same. "The tenour of the kings letters patents. Notum vobis facimus per praesentes, quod amodo usque ad 116 EDWARD II diem dominus Petrus de Gaveston regnum nostrum est abiura- turus & exiturus, videlicet in crastino nativitatis S. lohannis Baptistae proximo sequenti : nos in quantum nobis est nihil faciemus, nee aliquid fieri permittemus, per quod exilium dicti domini Petri in aliquo poterit impediri, vel protelari, quin secundum formam a praelatis, comitibus, & baronibus regni nostri, ordinatam, & per nos libero consensu confirmatam, plenarie perficiatur. In cuius rei testimonium has literas nostras fieri fecimus patentes. Datum apud Westm. i8 die Maij. Anno regni nostri primo. " These letters were read, heard, and allowed in the presence of all the Noble men of this land, the day and yeare abovesaid. The archbishop of Canturburie, being latelie retm-ned from Rome, where he had remained in exile in the late deceassed kings daies for a certeine time, did pronounce the said Peers accursed, if he taried within the realme longer than the appointed time, and likewise all those that should aid, helpe, or mainteine him, as also if he should at any time hereafter retume againe into the land. To conclude, this matter was so followed, that at length he was constreined to withdraw himselfe to Bristow, and so by sea as a banished man to saile into Ireland. " The king being sore offended herewith, as he that favoured the earle more than that he could be without his companie, threatned the lords to be revenged for this displeasure, and ceassed not to send into Ireland unto Peers, comforting him both with freendlie messages, and rich presents, and as it were to shew that he meant to reteine him still in his favour, he made him ruler of Ireland as his deputie there. A wonderfuU matter that the king should be so inchanted with the said earle, and so addict himselfe, or rather fix his hart upon a man of such a corrupt humor, against whome the heads of the noblest houses in the land were bent to devise his overthrow. . . . " The lords perceiving the kings affection, and that the treasure was spent as lavishUe as before, thought with them- selves that it might be that the king would both amend his passed trade of life, and that Peers being restored home, would rather advise him thereto, than follow his old maners, considering that it might be weU perceived, that if he continued in the incouraging of the king to lewdnesse, as in times past he had doone, he could not thinke but that the lords would be readie to correct him, as by proofe he had now tried their meanings to be no lesse. Hereupon to reteine amitie, as was thought on both NOTES 117 sides, Peers by consent of the lords was restored home againe (the king meeting him at Chester) to his great comfort and rejoising for the time, although the malice of the lords was such, that such joy lasted not long." 213. Timeles, that is, untimely, the meaning it usually bears in Marlowe and Shakespeare (compare Tamburlaine, 4645 ; Massacre, 46 ; Richard II, IV, i. 5 ; and see Schmidt's Lexicon). Ward, commenting on Marlowe's fondness for the suffix less in his edition of Fausius and Friar Bacon, p. 200, interprets the passage cited above from Tamburlaine somewhat differently, taking ' timeless ' as ' of which time cannot destroy the memory.' Century Dictionary cites the present line from Edward II under ' timeless ' as meaning ' unmarked by time ; eternal.' A number of Marlowe's adjectives in less are collected by Vogt, Das Ad- jektiv bei Marlowe, 14, 18-19, 4^- 214. Peevish, that is, ' trifling, silly,' as in i Henry VI, V, iii. 186: " I will not so presume To send such peevish tokens to a king." 232. Take exceptions at. The modem idiom is ' take exception to,' and it has not so strong a meaning as Mortimer senior gives it. Compare 1. 764, where it has the modern sense, and Two Gentlemen of Verona, I, iii. 81 : " Lest he should take exceptions to my love." 233. Stomach, i.e. be angry at. See 1. 1056. 234. Bewraies, i.e. reveals, exposes. Compare 1. 241. 236. Weele. We should expect ' we'd,' i.e. ' we would.' This use of the indicative after a contrary to fact conditional clause is, however, not uncommon. See 1. 325. So in Pilgrimage to Parnassus, I, 61-4 : " If I were younge who now am waxen oulde, . . . He be a scholler, though I live but poore." Greene and Lodge, Looking-glass for London, 11. 487-8 : " For were a goddesse fairer then am I, He scale the heavens to pull her from the place." (Dyce, in his note, p. 123 of his edition of Greene, compares Coriolanus, L ix. 2, in which passage some editors have changed ' Thou't ' to ' Thou'ldst.' Nevertheless, Dyce changes to ' we'd ' 118 EDWARD II in the present line.) A somewhat similar incongruity in Edward I, scene xvii. 26-7 : " but for his head, I vowed I will present our governor with the same," and in the present play, 11. 555-6. 249. His peeres. The antecedent of ' his ' is the king, and ' peers ' is used in the special sense in which a ' peer of the realm ' is " a holder of the title of one of the five degrees of nobility — duke, marquis, earl, viscount, baron." 252. St. dir. Enter the Queene. Isabella, daughter of Phihp the Fair of France and born in 1292, had married Edward in January, 1308, so that at this time she was probably not quite sixteen. Her love-affair with Mortimer was of a much later date. See below, under 448, 1539. 254. Unto the forrest. Dyce takes the Queen's words literally, and is thereby confused as to the location of the scene, which he is inclined to place at Windsor. She is, of course, as BuUen has observed, speaking figuratively. With this scene it is interest- ing to compare Greene's James IV. II, ii. There are a number of parallels : Isabella — Dorothea ; Archbishop of Canterbury — Bishop of Saint Andrews ; the two Mortimers, Warwick, and Lancaster — Douglas, Morton, and others. Moreover, Isabella takes the king's side unsuccessfully, as does Dorothea. It may be remarked in general that neither Edward nor James has any love for his consort ; that in both plays the nobles remonstrate unsuccessfully with the king because he is governed by flatterers ; and that in both plays the misgovernment of the king and his favourites are painted in similar colours. For example, with 11. 224 ff., 695 ff., of Edward II, compare the following lines from James IV : " Madam, he sets us light that serv'd in court. In place of credit, in his father's days : If we but enter presence of his grace. Our payment is a frown, a scoff, a frump ; Whilst flattering Gnatho pranks it by his side. Soothing the careless king in his misdeeds," etc. In the Introduction, pp. cvii.-cviii. I have pointed out resem- blances in the characters of Isabella and Dorothea. These points are not sufficient to show indebtedness on either side, perhaps, but they have some interest in view of the fact that Greene's source did not represent the king as being misled NOTES 119 by flatterers, had nothing to say about misgovernment, and there was no quarrel between him and his nobles ; consequently there was no ground for the advocacy of his cause on the part of the queen. Nor could Greene have derived many suggestions of this kind from the history of James IV's reign, since James was and was reputed to be an excellent legislator and a successful administrator ; it is true that his nobles at times quarrelled with him. These points are pure additions to the original story as related by Cinthio (see Introduction, p. Ixxviii.), and are not at all necessary to the conduct of the plot. Hence one is justified in wondering whether Marlowe's influence is to be seen here. The relative dates of the two plays are not definitely known, but Marlowe would hardly have taken any suggestions from Greene, since everything of the kind in Edward II is accounted for well enough by the hints and remarks in Holinshed. If there was borrowing, it was doubtless on the part of Greene, and James IV would then be the later of the two dramas. 266-7. For ie)e have power . . .full. Keller, m.s., 24, compares the speech of Lancaster in the old Richard II, when he threatens, speaking of the king's favourites : "He be reuengd at full on all ther hues." 268. But yet, etc. In assigning this speech to the queen, Ellis and Verity follow the suggestion of Elze, Notes on Eliz. Dramatists, 1880, p. 112. Compare notes on 11. 294, 587. 268-9. L'^ft ■ ■ • ^ift- Nelle, Das Wortspiel im Englischen Drama vor Shakspere, 1900, 40, calls attention to the play upon words here. 271. Then let him stay. Holinshed tells us nothing with regard to what part the queen had in the matter of Gaveston, but in connection with the year 1321 he tells us, p. 327, that " the queene had ever sought to procure peace, love and concord betwixt the king and his lords." Later, under 1322, p. 332, he says that " the queene for that she gave good and faithfull counsell, was nothing regarded, but by the Spensers meanes cleerelie worne out of the kings favour." Thus in depicting the character of Isabel (see Introduction, p. cviii.) Marlowe follows Holinshed much as the authors of the first part of Henry VI followed the same authority in depicting the character of Joan of Arc. It is well known that the inconsistent characterization of Joan in that play is the result of obedience to Hohnshed. 120 EDWARD II In the case of Isabella, however, we are justified in saying that Marlowe saw the difficulty and endeavoured to overcome it, though not with perfect success. See note on 1559. 271. Then let him stay, etc. Keller, u.s., 23-4, points out that Queen Anne, in the anonymous Richard II, undertakes the same role of peacemaker between the king and his indignant nobles, and that the dramatist did not find this bit of material in his sources. 282. The new temple. Tancock quotes from Maitland's History of London, ii. 967-8 : " The Temple or New Temple is so called because the Templers before building of this House had their Temple in Oldbourne. This House was founded by the Knights Templars in England in the reign of Henry II . . . dedicated in 1185. . . . Many noblemen became brethren . . . and built themselves Temples in every city. ... In England this was the chief house, which they built after the Form of the Temple near to the Sepulchre of our Lord at Jerusalem. . . . This Temple in London was often made a storehouse of men's treasure, such as feared the spoil thereof in other places. . . . Many Parliaments and great Councils have been there kept. Edward II in 1313 gave to Aimer de la Valence the New Temple. After Aymer de la Valence \_d. 1324] some say that Hugh Spenser the younger usurping the same held it during his life." 289. I, if words will serve ; if not, I must. Compare 2 Henry VI, V, i. 139-40 : " Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons shall." 290. Edmund. Scene 3. A street perhaps (Dyce). The presence of this meaningless scene has been very severely criticized by writers on Marlowe, and of course in a modern play it would be a very gross violation of dramatic technique. From a strictly historical point of view, however, it does not deserve all of the condemnation it has received, and it shows simply that Edward II had not emerged entirely out of the story- teUing stage (see Introduction, pp. lii.-lvii.). Speaking of the early chronicle history, Thorndike says. Tragedy, 85 : "A play was really a continuous performance, the actors coming and going, a battle intervening, and now and then a withdrawal of aU the actors and the appearance of a new group presaging a marked change of place or the beginning of an entirely different action." NOTES 121 This is not of course an accurate description of Edward II, but it is of the kind of play which Edward II is the outgrowth. 294. There let them remaine. Ellis and Verity again follow Elze. See note on 268. 295. Here is the forme. Scene 4. The New Temple (Dyce). Yet it seems unlikely that all of the action contained in this scene is supposed to go on at the New Temple. See notes on 11. 400, 481, 717. 302. Are you mov'd thai Gaveston sits heere ? Keller, u.s., observes that in the old Richard II the nobles are likewise indignant that the king places his favourites beside him on the day of the coronation. 307. Quam male conveniunt, i.e. how ill they suit. " Was the poet thinking of Ovid, — ' Non bene conveniunt,' etc., Met. II, 846?" (Dyce). McLaughUn thinks there is no reference to Ovid, but that the phrase is merely one of the Latin pedantries of the time. When the full passage from Ovid, however, is quoted, it is seen to have a particular application to the situation : " Non bene conveniunt nee in una sede morantur Maiestas et amor." Marlowe introduced many Latin tags into his plays. Tam- burlaine, no doubt, is free from them, but compare Faustus, 35, 44, 56, 461, 474, etc., Jew of Malta, 228. In Dido he makes two quotations from the Mneid, one (1548) of five lines, the other {1720) of three. In Jew of Malta are two Spanish lines (678, 705). Herein Marlowe did as other dramatists of his day. Peek's Edward I contains many Latin scraps, as does the Troublesome Raigne of King John. Locrine, II, v. 87, has a Latin passage of six lines. Greene's Orlando Furioso has an Italian passage of eight Unes, a Latin one of ten ; Friar Bacon has a Latin passage of three Unes. The Spanish Tragedy, besides a number of two and three line Latin passages, contains one of fourteen lines, and an Italian of two lines. See in general, Dorrinck, Die Lat. Zitate in den Dramen der wichtigsten Vor- ganger Shakespeares, 1907. Long passages are of course excep- tional, but phrases and tags are everywhere to be found, and the practice of introducing them can be easily traced back into the earher drama, e.g. Everyman, Hazlitt's Dodsley, I, pp. 141, 142 ; Hickscorner, ibid., 183 ; so in the miracle plays. 122 EDWARD II In the drama after Marlowe the long passages practically disappear, and the short ones become much less mimerous, though they may occur at any time. Such a scene as V, i. of Jonson's Silent Woman, containing the learned dispute of Cutbeard and his coadjutor, is the exception, and has of course its special explanation. The inferences drawn from it by Schnap- parelle. Die Burgerlichen Stande, etc., vornehmlich nach den Dramen Ben Jonsons, 1908, 14, seem hardly sound, and one can hardly beUeve that the abihty to understand spoken Latin, whatever the case with Latin that was read, was as widely diffused as he thinks. 310. Phaeton. Phaeton was ' Clymene's brainsick son ' (Tam- burlaine, 1493, 4624). " That almost brent the axletree of heaven," when his father Helios allowed him to guide the chariot of the sun (Ovid, Metamorphoses, II, 35 ff.). 313. Overfeerd. Mortimer is punning on the words ' to peer,' i.e. ' to look,' and ' peer,' i.e. of the realm. 321. Were I a king. So Greene, the favourite of Richard in the anonymous Richard II, after abusing the nobles much in the manner of Gaveston, goes on : " Were I as you, my lord " See Keller, M.S., 24. 322. Villaine, i.e. ' villein,' a peasant bound to the soil. 326. Disparage, " degrade from our proper position. The Latin words disparagare, disparagaiio , from dispar, ' unequal,' were technical terms of feudal times, expressing difference of social position." (Tancock.) 331. Warwicke and Lancaster, weare you my crowne. So in The Massacre at Paris, 866 ff . : " King. Guise, weare our crowne, and be thou King of France, And as Dictator make or warre or peace, Whilste I cry placet like a Senator." 343. Fleete, i.e. float, drift, as in Tamburlaine, 1254 : " Legions of Spirits fleeting in the aire " ; and 2365 : " Shall meet those Christians fleeting with the tyde." Compare 1. 1940 below, where the word is used of the quick and easy passage of the soul from the body. 344. And wander to the unfrequented Inde. Schoeneich, Der Lit. Einfluss Spensers auf Marlowe, 99, thinks that this line was NOTES 123 suggested by Faerie Queene, I, vi. 2 : " She wandred had from one to other Ynd." 351. Curse me, depose me, doe the worst you can. This hys- terical defiance followed by a sudden giving way is characteristic of Edward. Compare 2039 ff . 370-1. Why should . . . the world. There may be some recollection of Spanish Tragedy, II, 6, 6 : " On whom I doted more then all the world. Because she lov'd me more then all the world." Verity compares Titus Andronicus, II, i. 71-2 : " I care not, I, knew she and all the world : _ I love Lavinia more then aU the world." 382. And now, accursed hand, fall off. Tancock says : " Com- pare the story of Cranmer burning the hand that had offended in signing his recantation. Tennyson, Queen Mary, iv. 3, p. 221 : ' And cr5dng, in his deep voice, more than once, " This hath offended — this unworthy hand ! " So held it till all it was burned.' " 386. Sort, i.e. class or group, as in 1. 967. 390 ff. Why should a king be subject to a priest. Compare Massacre at Paris, 1207 ff. : " Agent for England, send thy mistres word. What this detested lacobin hath done. Tell her for all this that I hope to live. Which if I doe, the Papall Monarch goes To wrack and antechristian kingdome falles. These bloudy hands shall teare his triple Crowne, And fire accursed Rome about his eares. lie fire his erased buildings and inforse The papall towers to kisse the holy earth." The last two lines are almost identical with 394-5. Of course, as Tancock notes, the passage is anachronistic in the mouth of Edward II, and belongs rather to Marlowe's own times (cf. notes on 11. 55 and 964). Many similar outbursts against the Pope and the Roman church are to be found in the chronicle history at this special period. In other forms of the drama and at other times they are less frequent, though still not rare. Occasionally there might be a play, like Barnes' Devils Charter, 1607, of which the chief theme would be the crimes of the Popes. 124 EDWARD II 391. Hatchest. This is a favourite word of Marlowe, used several times in this play and elsewhere. 400. My lord, etc. Dyce suggests a change of scene at this point, and certainly the words ' whispered everj^where ' seem to indicate a lapse of time not otherwise to be accounted for from our present point of view. But see note on 717 below. 409 ff . lie come to thee ; my love shall neare decline. This parting between Edward and Gaveston reminds one strongly of that between Queen Margaret and Suffolk, in 2 Henry VI, III, ii. 329 ff., perhaps even more strongly of that between Richard and his queen, Richard II, V, i. 81 ff . 417. And onely this torments my wretched soule. Compare Spanish Tragedie, III, i. 43 : " But this, O this, tormentes my labouring soule." 427. Kinde wordes and mutuall talke makes our greeje greater. Compare Richard II, V, i. 101-2 : " We make woe wanton with this fond delay : Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say." 436. Passe not for, that is, care not for. See 1. 2030. 437. St. dir. Enter Edmund. As Dyce remarks, the entrance of Edmund seems to be a mistake. He does nothing in the following part of the scene, and it will be remembered that he was removed earlier with Gaveston. LI. 464 ff., the soliloquy of the queen, would seem to imply that she was alone ; and compare 1. 481. The exit of Edmund is nowhere marked. There is no question that the quartos are careless in marking exits and entrances, see the stage directions, 11. 301, 328, 898, etc. 448. Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer. There appears to be no reason for supposing that the connection between Isabella and Mortimer began before the escape of the latter to France, see under 1581. Holinshed, like other chroniclers, handles the love-affair in a circumspect fashion. He says nothing whatever about it in his account of the reign of Edward II, so that one might read that narrative without suspecting its existence. When he comes to tell of Mortimer's arrest and execution, he devotes a few Unes to the matter (see under 2550), but says nothing about the time or manner in which the con- nection grew up. Marlowe makes it dramatically credible by NOTES 125 bringing the two into close association, postulating a real though unconscious sympathy between them, and subjecting this to the ripening force of Edward's neglect and their close associa- tion in France. The early stages of this process Marlowe depicts with skill and force, but the actual change from unconscious sym- pathy to adulterous love he has given little attention to. Had he filled this gap with equal success, the problem of the regen- eration of Isabella's character (see Introduction, pp. cvii.-cviii. and note on 1559) would have provided its own solution. The usual criticism upon Marlowe is that he was unable to portray women successfully, and that he apparently took little interest in them. One can hardly dispute the statement, but it is worth noting that in the early part of this play Isabella has something of the freshness and charm of Greene's Dorothea and Margaret. 454. Villaine, Us thou that robst me of my lord. Compare the charges brought against the favourites of Richard II, Richard II, III, i. II ff. : " You have in manner with your sinful hours Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him. Broke the possession of a royal bed And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs." 464. miserable and distressed Queene. In like manner Queen Anne (see note on 271) : " I now am crownd a queene of misserye." 466. Charming Circes. ' Charming ' " is here used in its literal sense" (Keltie), i.e. employing charms; so in Locrine, IV, ii. 9 : " Hath dreadfull Fames with her charming rods," etc. The form ' Circes ' is not easy to explain. Dyce says that the genitive of proper names was formerly often put for the nominative, but he gives no instances, and his remark is un- satisfactory. In He3rwood's Pleasant Dialogues and Drammas, ed. Bang, 1903, 1. 960, occurs the line : " Wouldst thou make me a Circes? " Bang in his note says that ' Circes ' is a mis- print, but the statement is clearly wrong, for other examples can be given. The form occurs in Dido, 1217 (where Brooke corrects to ' Circe,' though he does not in the present passage) ; three times in Greene's Mamillia (Works, ed. Grosart, II, 186, 203, 286 ; in one case the expression ' charming Cyrces ' is used), and in the Index to Kyd's Householder's Philosophy (Works, ed. Boas, 234) ; in addition cf, Henry Crosse, 126 EDWARD II Virtues Commonwealth, 1603, ed. Grosart, 1878, 163 ; Brath- wait's Natures Emhassie, 1621, repr. 1877, P- ^ '> Whitlock's Zootomia, 1654, 437- See ' Achillis,' 1. 687 below. Professor Fliigel has very kindly pointed out to me that ' Circes ' is a very common Old French form, that it is the regular form in Chaucer and Gower, that it is a good 15th century form, occurring in Lydgate and in the anonymous Destruction of Troy, and that it very probably, along with other similar nominative-genitives, arose from the loose translation of such passages as Ovid, Metamorphoses, iv. 205, Nee tenet Aeaeae genetrix pulcherrima Circes ; xiii. 968, Prodigiosa petit Titanidos atria Circes. Tancock rightly remarks that Marlowe is here referring to Ovid, Metamorphoses, XIV, where Circe (11. 48 ff.) is represented as walking over the sea on her way to work the enchantment of Scylla : " ingreditur ferventes aestibus undas. In quibus ut solida ponit vestigia terra, Summaque decurrit pedibus super aequora siccis." 472. Frantick Juno. LI. 472-3 appear to be an expansion of Ovid's phrase, ' invita lunone,' in his brief account of Gany- mede, Met., X, 155-61. 474. Ganimed. Marlowe seems to have given * Ganymede ' a short e, as is indicated not merely by the spelhng (cf. Dido, 11. I, 49, etc.), but also by the rhymes in Hero and Leander, I, 148 (bed . . . Ganimed) ; so He5Avood, u.s., 4871-2 (tread . . . Ganimed). This is also the regular spelling in ^s You Like It, and elsewhere, e.g. Drayton, Polyolbion, xvii. 195. 481. Looke, etc. Dyce suggests a change of scene at this point also. 483. Intreated, that is, treated. See Marlowe's translation of Ovid's Elegies, III, ii. 22 : " By thy sides touching ill she is entreated," where ' ill entreated ' translates laeditur. 484. Hard is the hart. In such expressions (hard heart, hard- hearted) NeUe, Das Wortspiel im Engl. Drama des XVI Jahr- hunderts, 1900, 16, and Wurth, Das Wortspiel bei Shakspere, 1895, think that a play upon words is to be found. It may possibly be that the similarity of sound lent a certain attractive- ness to such phrases in an age that was excessively fond of NOTES 127 jingles and puns, but the idea involved in them is indispensable and the language natural and indeed inevitable, so that their frequent use had doubtless little to do with the likeness between hard and heart. 499. Shipwrack body. Compare ' shipwracke treasure,' Hero and Leander, II, 164. For other instances of the use of a noun as adjective, see Vogt, Das Adjectiv bei Marlowe, 1908, 9-10. 517. Torpedo, i.e. the cramp-fish or electric ray, which delivers an electric shock to the incautious handler. The severity of this shock was earlier much exaggerated, and its cause of course not understood. Sir Thomas Browne, for instance, Pseudodoxia, III, vii., speaks of the torpedo as distributing its ' opium,' though he was probably speaking metaphorically in allusion to the numbing effect of the shock. 555. Whereas, that is, ' where,' regularly so used in Marlowe's day. 559. How easilie might some base slave be subbornd. The design here sketched by Mortimer and assented to by the peers without demur has the effect of alienating the sympathy of modern readers. Such would not have been necessarily its effect on an Elizabethan audience. Assassination was a crime no doubt, but not always thought a despicable one. It was a recognized political weapon on the continent, and the odium attached to it depended upon political or religious prepossessions in large measure. Circumstances might justify it, and the doctrine of tyrannicide was held alike by Jesuits and Puritans. Even in private feuds assassination was frequent on the continent and might even be employed on occasion by an English nobleman ; thus the earl of Oxford was generally thought to have formed a plot to murder Sir Philip Sidney. In other words, assassination was of course murder, but the circumstances of secrecy or even treachery by which it was accompanied did not of necessity make it especially odious, unless they were of an aggravated kind. Poisoning was to be sure looked upon with particular abhorrence, and yet Edward, 11. 1033-4, after Gaveston has suggested the assassination of Mortimer, utters the wish : " Would Lancaster and he had both carroust A bowle of poison to each others health." Laertes in Hamlet himself suggests that the foil he is to use be poisoned, and yet Laertes is in no sense represented as a villain, R 128 EDWARD II In the seventeenth century the murder of Buckingham was acclaimed by almost the whole nation. 566. How chance, i.e. ' how does it chance that.' Compare the expression current in some parts of the United States, ' how come ' for ' how comes it.' 576. Of, i.e. on. This use of ' of ' was very common (compare 1. 1957), and resulted from the confusion brought about by the fact that in daily speech the two words were frequently reduced to ' a ' or ' o ' (Franz, Shakespeare-Grammalik, p. 249). In 1. 1707 we find a similar reduction of ' in ' to ' a,' and in modern colloquial speech the phrase ' would have done ' is often pro- nounced ■ would a done,' with the result that children and sometimes older persons write it ' would of done.' Compare also 1. 1592, where ' a ' is unemphatic ' he.' 578. Mushrump, a common variant of ' mushroom.' In the Jew of Malta, 1983, occurs ' mushrumbs.' Compare Southwell's Scorn not the Least, Schelling's Elizabethan Lyrics, p. 68 : " He that high growth on cedars did bestow. Gave also lowly mushrumps leave to grow." 586-7. On that condition . . . And I. Keller, u.s., notes the similarity of the following passage from the old Richard II : " If not : by good king Edwards bones, our royall father, I wiU remoue these hinderers of his health (tho't cost my head). Yorke. Lane. On these conditions, brother, we agree. Arond. And I. Surry. And I." 587. And so will Penbrooke. Ellis and Verity follow Elze, p. 114. See note on 268. 590-1. And when . . . forlorne. Compare Kyd's Soliman and Perseda, IV, i. 198 : " My gratious Lord, whe[n] Erastus doth forget this favor. Then let him Uve abandond and forlorne." 612. Passions. Compare ' passionate,' 1. 802, and Tambur- laine, 359 : " His deep affections make him passionate " ; 473 : " Pale of complexion : wrought in him with passion " ; 998 : " Yet since a farther passion feeds my thoughts." 613. My gratious lord. This line is almost repeated, 1. 937. 621. Golden tongue. Nelle, Das Wortspiel im Englischen Drama vor Shakspere, 1900, 36, thinks that we have a play upon NOTES 129 words here, since ' tongue ' is used in the sense of (a) an ornament, (b) the organ of speech. 638. Chiefest. This is a kind of double superlative. ' Chief ' expresses the superlative degree, and is not to-day capable of comparison. But ' chiefest ' is very common in Elizabethan English, which freely reinforced its superlatives, even when formed regularly ; the famihar example is Shakespeare's " most unkindest cut of all," Julius Ccesar, III, ii. 187. Ben Jonson (English Grammar, chap, iv.) calls the practice " a certain kind of English Atticism, or eloquent phrase of speech, imitating the manner of the most ancientest and finest Grecians, who, for more emphasis and vehemencies sake, used so to speak." For the distribution of honours and offices in this passage there is no chronicle authority. 648. Like thee not, that is, ' please thee not.' The verb ' like,' when used in this sense, was regularly in the impersonal construc- tion, just as ' please ' is to-day. See 1. 1606. 649-50. Marshall . . . marshall. One of the few plays on words in Edward II ; Marlowe, Bullen remarks (Works, II, 88), is not " much addicted to quibbhng," but puns and word-plays do occur, and in Jew of Malta they are fairly frequent (Nelle, Das Wortspiel, etc., 10). Compare Carpenter, Metaphor and Simile in the Minor Eliz. Drama, 1895, 38, and see notes on 484, 621, etc. 652. Chirke. The two Mortimers were respectively of Chirke (on the border between Shropshire and Wales) and Wigmore (on the border between Herefordshire and Wales). See 1. 992. 655-6. Be you the generall . . . assaile the Scots. Tancock says that there was no foreign war at this time. But it is im- possible to tell exactly whether Marlowe has in mind here 1310 or 1311, and in 1311 there was an expedition into Scotland. It is true that the elder Mortimer is not mentioned in connection with it, but under the year 1315 Sir Roger Mortimer (really the younger, but not distinguished by Holinshed, so that Marlowe could easily assign the episode to the elder) is mentioned by Holinshed as commanding in Ireland against the Scottish invaders under Edward Bruce, and as being defeated by him : " manie of the said sir Rogers men were slaine and taken." This episode may very easily have suggested 1. 913. See the note on that hne. 130 EDWARD II 663. Beamont. ' Lord Henrie Beaumont,' mentioned by Holinshed, p. 323, was an energetic supporter of Edward until 1323, when he turned against him. 664. Iris . . . Mercuric. Iris, the rainbow, was the messen- ger of the gods, more particularly perhaps of Juno. Mercury executed the commands of Jupiter. 671. Made him sure, i.e. betrothed. Compare Jew of Malta, looi, on which line Bullen quotes from Cotgrave : " Accordailles, the betrothing, or making sure of a man and woman together." 672. The earle of Glosters heire. " Moreover, at the same parlement [1307], a marriage was concluded betwixt the earle of Cornewall Peers de Gaveston, and the daughter of Gilbert de Clare earle of Glocester, which he had by his wife the countesse Joane de Acres the kings sister, which marriage was solemnized on AllhaUowesday nextinsuing." (Holinshed, 318). Tancock in his note on this line and Tzschaschel (p. 13) both are of the opinion that Marlowe used Stow's Annals rather than HoUnshed, because Stow represents the marriage as taking place after Gaveston's return from Ireland. The conclusion, however, does not necessarily follow. In the first place, Gaveston has not yet returned ; in the second, the words ' have made him sure ' clearly represent the betrothal as already accomphshed ; in the third, 11. 740-5 make it certain that the betrothal took place before the banishment. Now Stow mentions no betrothal at all, whereas Marlowe says nothing about any marriage, though we may suppose it past in U. iioo-i. The utmost that we may conclude is perhaps that the two accounts fused in Marlowe's mind. Strictly, he is following both authorities. 675. Who in the triumphe will be challenger. ' Triumph ' here means the ' generall tilt and turnament ' of 1. 669. The word was ordinarily used to denote a procession with what are now called ' floats,' especially the procession on Lord Mayor's day. For the construction of this passage, in which the subject of ' spare ' is omitted and is to be supplied from the preceding clause, compare 11. 947-8, 1684-5, and Tamburlaine, 665-7 • " They knew not, ah, they knew not simple men, How those were hit by pelting Cannon shot. Stand staggering like a quivering Aspen leafe." NOTES 131 679. Nephue, I must to Scotland. The importance of the following passage for the creation of suspense is remarked by Fischer, Kunstentwicklung der Engl. Tragodie, 147. 683. Controulement. Compare 1. 1792 and King John, I, i. 19-20 : " Here have we war for war and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment : so answer France." 685. Ephestion. Hephaestion was the intimate friend and companion of Alexander the Great. 687. Achillis. See note on 466. The same form occurs in the 1604 Faustus, 1339. It was the slaying of Patroclus by Hector that finally aroused Achilles from his sullen anger at the injury done him by Agamemnon before Troy. The games with which the hero solemnized the death of his friend were splendid and famous. See Iliad, Book XXIII. 689. Tullie . . . Octavis, i.e. Cicero . . . Octavius. For the form ' Octavis ' I have no parallel, and it is probably a misprint. Brooke reads ' Octavius ' without comment, but the Cassel copy of Q 1594, from which he prepared his text, is very clear, accord- ing to my facsimile. The citation of Cicero and Octavius is particularly inapt, as there was nothing in their relation or in the character of Octavius even remotely to recall Edward and Gaveston. 690. Socrates . . . Alcihiades. Socrates, the Greek philo- sopher, entertained an affection for Alcibiades, a wild, rakish, but brilliant youth of high birth and great beauty ; but as in the preceding line, the elder Mortimer's citation is not especially to the purpose. 695 ff. His wanton humor. Mortimer's contempt for Gave- ston's effeminacy is much like the contempt of Hotspur for " a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd. Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new reap'd Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; He was perfumed like a milliner," etc. (i Henry IV, I, iii. 33.) 700. He weares a lords revenewe on his back. Editors regularly quote 2 Henry VI, I, iii. 83 : " She bears a duke's revenue on her back." Verity compares Henry VIII, I, i. 83-5 : " O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em For this great journey."^ 132 EDWARD II No idea is more common in the satirical comedy of the period. It was a time of great extravagance in all fashions, and a gallant's fine clothes would often necessitate the sale of many an acre of good land. Perrett, Story of King Lear up to Shakespeare, 1904, 119, speaking of Fleay's guess that Marlowe had a hand in the old Leir, says : " Fleay's solitary argument for Marlowe or an imitator in Sc. i-io is the line 'She'll lay her husband's benefice on her back/ in Sc. 6, with which he compares Ed. II [700], and 2 H. VI, I, iii. 83. If one swallow is to make summer like this we must say that Euphues and his England (ed. Arber, p. 268), the Inedited Tracts, The Servingman's Comfort, 1598 (p. 154, 156), and The Courtier and the Countryman, 1618 (p. 183), published by Hazhtt, 1868, as well as the Wise Speech of a nobleman under Henry VIII (Camden's Remaines, 1629, p. 244) were all by Marlowe or his imitators (cf. also the old R. II in Sh.-Jahrb. xxxv, p. 53 [55])." 701. Jets it. Compare Kyd's Soliman and Perseda, I, iii. 214 : " He will iet as if it were a Goose on a greene." For the use of ' it,' see 11. 667, 749, 1498. Midas was the Phrygian king who received from Bacchus the power of converting everything that he touched into gold. 702. Outlandish, i.e. foreign. Gaveston was French and of course was surrounded with French servants. The Elizabethan, and indeed typically English, dislike of foreigners crops out here. It is doubtful, however, whether in the reign of Edward II the still predominantly Norman nobihty would have felt any par- ticular dislike of the French except on purely political grounds. Marlowe very likely has in mind a passage in Stow, Annals, ed. 1606, 331 : " King Edward kept his Christmas at Yorke, where Pierce of Gaveston was present with his Outlandish men." 704. Proteus, god of shapes. Because the sea-god Proteus so often changed his shape, particularly when mortals attempted to restrain him. 706-7. Italian hooded cloake . . . tuskan cap. In Marlowe's day, but not in Mortimer's, foreign, especially French and Itahan, fashions in dress had pretty well taken possession of society. Foreigners made sport of the Enghsh, and the English often made sport of themselves, for their indiscriminate adoption of the fashions of the various continental countries. NOTES 133 709. Other. See Marlowe's translation of Ovid's Elegies, I, vi. 12 : " Be thou as bold as other," i.e. others. This form, historically the correct one, was in use, along with ' others,' all through the seventeenth century. 717. Come, unckle, lets away. The elder Mortimer does not appear again after this scene. Marlowe tells us nothing about his ultimate fate, but as a matter of fact he submitted to the king in 1322 at the same time with his nephew (see note on 1539) and was likewise imprisoned in the Tower, where he died after some years. " The construction of [the preceding scene] is poor. Gave- ston's exile is demanded, resisted, obtained ; he leaves England ; Isabel entreats, and finally secures, his recall ; he is summoned ; and after a general pacification of king and barons, a new resist- ance is threatened — all in the single scene." (McLaughhn.) If we should make a new scene at 1. 400 and another at 1. 481, the difficulty would in part be done away with, and such a change would be consistent with the incomplete stage directions of the quartos (see note on 437). On the other hand, we have no reason to suppose that either Marlowe or his audience felt the inconsistencies that we do. The Elizabethan stage developed from the symbolic stage of the earlier drama, and the transition to the modern literal stage, if we may use that term, was only in process. Properties belonging to one scene are often allowed to remain on the stage throughout a following scene with which their presence is whoUy inconsistent, and there are clear instances in which the stage represents two places at the same time. " Another custom ... is the change of scene before the eyes of the audience. Generally without the stage being cleared of actors, the supposed place of action suddenly shifts to an entirely different place." See Reynolds, Some Principles of Elizabethan Staging, Modern Philology, June, 1905. We are then practically justified in assuming a change of place when circumstances seem to demand, though we are not justified in introducing stage directions without notice. 718. Spencer. Scene 5. A hall in the mansion of the Duke of Glocester (Dyce). There was a play on the subject of the ' Spencers,' written by Porter and Chettle. Greg, Henslowe's Diary, 1908, ii. 224, suggests that this play, as well as one called ' Mortymore ' or ' Mortimer,' which we know also to have existed, though neither has been preserved, " had some distant 134 EDWARD II connection with Marlowe's Edward II." We know nothing about these plays. 719. Th' earle of Glosters dead. The younger Gilbert de Clare, earl of Gloucester, was ahve at this time, for he was killed in the battle of Bannockburn, two years after Gaveston's death. (It is not likely that Marlowe has in mind the elder Gilbert de Clare, who died in 1295.) The younger Gilbert had three sisters, co- heiresses of his estate, so that 11. 672, 1054 do not correspond with the facts. There is no authority for making Baldock one of his dependents, and Marlowe has antedated Baldock's promi- nence. " At this time also master Robert Baldocke, a man evill beloved in the realme, was made lord chancellour of England. This Robert Baldocke, and one Simon Reding were great favourers of the Spensers, and so likewise was the earle of Arundell, wherby it may be thought, that the Spensers did helpe to advance them into the kings favour, so that they bare no small rule in the realme, during the time that the same Spensers continued in prosperitie, which for the terme of five yeares after that the foresaid barons (as before is expressed) were brought to confusion, did woonder- fuUie increase." (Holinshed, 332, sub anno 1322.) The minute care with which Marlowe wove Baldock into the tissue of his action is seen not merely in this scene, but in U. 1035 ff . Hugh Spenser, or Despenser, the younger, had no dependence upon the earl of Gloucester. In 1309 he married one of the three sisters above mentioned, which fact probably gave Marlowe the hint for the present passage. The Despensers were important barons of the Welsh march ; they had nothing to do with Gave- ston, but became eventually favoxorites of Edward through their own merits. 748 ff. You must cast the scholler off. Tancock says : " This passage belongs to the poet's own day, and represents Baldock as somewhat of a Puritan in dress and manner. It may be illustrated by the character of ' A Young Rawe Preacher ' in Earle, Microcosmographie, p. 22 : ' He will not draw his hand- kercher out of his place.' ' His fashion and demure Habit gets him in with some Town-precisian. . . . You shall know him by his narrow velvet cape, and serge facing, and his ruffe.' Compare Spenser, Mother Hubberd's Tale of the Ape and the Fox : " ' Then to some Noble-man yourself e applye, There thou must walke in sober gravitee. Fast much, pray oft, look lowly on the ground. And unto everie one doo curtesie meeke.' " NOTES 135 These lines from Spenser, Mother Hubberd's Tale, 489, 496, 498-9, axe also cited by Schoeneich, Der Einfluss Spensers auf Marlowe, 100, as evidence of Spenserian influence. 755. Making lowe legs. ' To make a leg ' meant ' to bow.' 756. Close. Compare Hero and Leander, I, 158-9 : " There Hero sacrificing turtles blood. Valid to the ground, vailing her eie-lids close." 757. Ant, i.e. ' and it,' i.e. ' if it.' Both of these forms are common, as is also the phrase ' and if,' arising from a confusion as to the conditional use of ' and.' 761 ff . / hate such formall toies. Marlowe is here pretty clearly taking a fling at the London Puritans. They and the stage were at bitter feud. In revenge for their attempts to suppress the stage, dramatists all through the period brought them before the public as hypocritical asses. Marlowe had probably already felt their teeth in connection with his Tam- burlaine, which was currently regarded as atheistical, and we know that at the time of his murder he, together with Ralegh and others, was being ' investigated ' by the Privy Council for atheistical opinions. Accordingly after his death the Puritans concocted a monstrous death-bed legend, quite comparable to those legends that grew up concerning the last hours of Voltaire, Heine, and Tom Paine. It may be said incidentally that a careful examination shows that we possess no evidence proving that Marlowe's violent death was in any way brought about by his own vicious conduct, or that his Ufe was exceptionally de- praved or even dissipated. This passage, taken in connection with the others in the play in which we are compelled to see allusions to conditions of Marlowe's own day and generation (see notes on U. 390, 702, 748, 960, 964), sufficiently shows the futility of Diintzer's remark (Angha, I, 50) in his article Zu Marlowe's Faust, to the effect " dass die hohe und strenge dramatische stil Marlowe's . . . alle anspielungen auf die gegenwart ausschloss," a principle that he makes use of to deprive Marlowe of some of the finest Hues in Faustus. 770-3. Propter ea quod . . . quandoquidem . . . to forme a ■ erbe. Propter ea quod means ' because.' Baldock, however he may for selfish purposes put on the air of a Puritanical scholar. 136 EDWARD II has a contempt for those common pedants that cannot speak without introducing long and involved reasoning. The phrase would seem to be identified with the formal and artificial method of scholastic disputation still practised in Marlowe's day at Oxford and Cambridge. Quandoquidem, in its causal use having much the same meaning, seems however to be sharply contrasted with ■profterea quod. This may very likely have been on the ground of student usage. As the college students were supposed to do their conversing in Latin, it may well have come about that the cumbrous and formal propterea quod may have fallen into disfavour among the more elegant spirits (note that Baldock is in 1. 1814 called a ' smooth-tongued scholar '), and quando- quidem have become a sign of culture as distinct from pedantry. This suggestion is favoured by the fact that propterea quod was in classical Latin a prose expression, whereas, as Professor Elmore has pointed out to me, quandoquidem in its causal use was poetical, except in Livy. It is further favoured by Tancock's note that ' to form a verb ' " is a rendering of ' verba formare ' (compare Quintihan, i. 12, 9), 'to pronounce aright,' and here is a cant or slang phrase meaning ' to put a thing neatly,' ' to say the right thing.' " McLaughlin thinks that quandoquidem " may have been the beginning of some student Latin phrase of com- pliance with an invitation or opinion ; that is, ' You fall in with your company's suggestions in a free, genial way.' " But this leaves out of view the sharp contrast noted above, and Mc- Laughlin did not see the real meaning of ' to form a verb.' Tancock refers quandoquidem to the ' seeing that ' of 1. 719, and says that Spenser " hints that Baldock does give his reason." Surely this is too far-fetched ; 1. 719 is fifty-two lines back, and no spectator, only a commentator, would ever think of it in this connection. 774-5. The greefe, etc. Compare 11. 855-7. 788. Coache. There were no coaches in England at this time, as they were first introduced about the middle of the sixteenth century. 800. The winde is good. Scene 6. Before Tynmouth Castle (Dyce). 803. And still his minde runs on his minion. Compare Massacre at Paris, 638 : "'His minde you see runnes on his minions." NOTES 137 8io, Devise, i.e. ' device,' a painting on a shield, with a motto attached. 815-16. Cedar . . . Eagles. The cedar and the eagle were favourite types of royalty. Ward, History of English Dramatic Poetry, 2nd ed., I, 350, n. 3, remarks : "I think that allusions to Marlowe's play are also recognisable in the brief History of Edward II by the first Lord Falkland, not printed till long after its author's death (1633) in 1680, apparently with the design of injuring the Government, and containing some very judicious reflexions on Edward II's downfall. Gaveston is here spoken of as " the Ganymede of the King's affections ' [see 1. 474], and the image of a fallen cedar is applied to the dismissed favourite, perhaps in loose remembrance of " the present passage. 819. Aeque tandem. Tancock says : " Justly at length ; a hint that Gaveston, the canker, will get justice in the end, and be killed." But this can hardly be the meaning, for the motto of a device should bear some direct relation to the device itself. Aeque, moreover, while meaning sometimes ' justly,' was also regularly used when a comparison was made or implied, and that is here the case. Aeque tandem is the motto of the canker, p and means ' at length equally,' i.e. equally high, implying that iithe canker, Gaveston, at length attains the highest bough of all, lland so is on an equality with the eagle, Edward. Such is the Wense in which Edward takes it, 1. 840. 822 ff . Plinie reports there is a flying Fish. But Pliny does not say anything quite hke this, as Bullen and Tancock have noted. In his Natural History, ix. 19, Pliny speaks of a fish that " would leap on to a rocky ledge in warm weather and there bask in the sun." Bullen goes on to refer to an account quoted from Clearchus in Deipnosophistae, viii. 5, according to which this fish, " when basking on the ledge, has to be constantly on his guard against kingfishers and the like, and when he sees them afar flies leaping and gasping until he dives under the water." Tancock, with more probabihty, refers to such accounts of the fljTing fish as given in The Voyage made by M. John Hawkins esquire, and afterward knight . . . to the coast of Guinea (see the edition 1904 of Hakluyt's Voyages, x. 60-1), in which the details given by Marlowe are to be found. 827. Undique mors est. Death is on all sides. 188 EDWARD II 828 ff. Proud Mortimer . . . my brother. This speech is assigned to Kent by Dyce, an assignment followed by almost all editors since his day (see the variants). The quarto assignment, however, is undoubtedly correct, for the following reasons : (a) all quartos agree ; (b) the words, ' my brother,' 1. 834, which Dyce thought to be decisive, are not necessarily to be inter- preted as he assumes, for the line, if spoken by the king, may be interpreted as follows — What call you this but private Ubelling against one who has two titles to consideration, that he is the earl of Cornwall and that I look upon him as my brother (compare 11. 142-3) ; (c) there has been, strictly speaking, no libel on the king, for Mortimer compares him to a lofty cedar tree, fair flourishing, and Lancaster does not mention him ; (d) Isabella's speech, I. 835, seems to be called forth by some outbreak on Edward's part ; (e) Kent would hardly have referred to the king as ' my brother,' since the phrase would not have brought out his chief title to respect from the nobles, though referring to Gaveston, it would have done so from the king's point of view ; (f) it is unlikely that the passionate Edward should have remained silent after Lancaster's speech, and allowed Kent to rebuke the nobles in his stead ; (g) finally, it should be noted that Stow [Annals, ed. 1606, 328) remarks that Edward was in the habit of calling Gaveston ' Brother.' 829-30. 7s this the love, etc. Crawford (see note on 151) compares Arden of Feversham, I, 186-7 • " Is this the end of all thy solemn oaths ? Is this the fruit thy reconcilement buds ? " 839. Gesses, i.e. jesses, the thongs, usually of leather, worn about the legs of the hawk ; to them was attached the re- straining leash. 852. Danae, the daughter of Acrisius, was locked up in a brazen tower by her father because of a prophecy ; Jupiter visited her in the form of a shower of gold. It is not recorded that she had other lovers, or that they waxed outrageous because of her confinement. 861. Paynted springe. " A translation of the common classical epithet, 'pictum,' as 'prata picta,' the flowery meadows" (Tancock). 873. Base, leaden Earles. " The king indeed was lewdlie led [1310], for after that the NOTES 139 earle of Cornewall was returned into England, he shewed him- selfe no changeling (as writers doo affirme) but through support of the kings favour, bare himselfe so high in his doings, which were without all good order, that he seemed to disdaine all the peeres & barons of the realme. Also after the old sort he pro- voked the king to all naughtie rule and riotous denaeanour, and having the custodie of the kings jewels and treasure, he tooke out of the jewell-house a table, & a paire of trestels of gold, which he delivered unto a merchant called Aimerie de Friscobald, commanding him to conveie them over the sea into Gascoine. This table was judged of the common people, to belong sometime unto king Arthur, and therefore men grudged the more that the same should thus be sent out of the realme." (Holinshed, p. 320.) 880. Heere, here, King. In his first edition Dyce says : " I should have taken the word ' King ' for a prefix crept by mistake into the text, but that the speeches of Edward have always the prefix ' Edw.' " In his second edition he adopted that view, as shown by the variants. 881. Convey hence, etc. Brereton, Modern Language Review, VI, 95, says : " I would follow the reading of 1594 in every- thing. It is one line, not one and a bit. The warning words are spoken aside to the king. In a later scene [1231 ff.] Penbrooke shews a sincere affection for his sovereign, and is willing to place his life in pledge for Gaveston." However, in his version of the line Brereton omits ' King ' without notice, and it is difficult to see how that word fits in with his interpretation. Either, as Dyce thought, it is a stage direction, or else as a part of Pem- broke's speech it has a harsh and disrespectful ring out of keeping with what Brereton suggests. 897-8. Come, Edmund . . . Barons pride. Compare Massacre at Paris, 1139-40 : " Come let us away and leavy men, Tis warre that must asswage this tyrantes pride." 899. Mooude. Fleay takes ' moved ' in this line as meaning ' removed, departed,' in the next line as ' moody, angry,' and goes on to say that " Marlowe seldom puns, and when he does it is generally in a serious way, as here." But there seems no reason for supposing a pun to be intended. There is no question as to the meaning of ' moved ' in the second instance, and in the 140 EDWARD II preceding line one can hardly suppose Warwick to have meant, ' Let's to our castles, for the king is departed.' ' Moved ' is constantly and regularly used in the sense of ' angry,' and no contemporary of Marlowe would ever have attached any other sense to the word as used by Warwick. The case is not at all comparable to the one noted under 11. 649-50. 901. It is no dealing, or, as we should say, there is no dealing. 910. St. dir. Poast. A ' post ' was a messenger, more especially a messenger on official business. 913. My unckles taken prisoner by the Scots. " This is not historical. . . . The whole story of the elder Mortimer being taken prisoner, and the King's refusal to ransom him, is very like the story of the captivity of Sir Edmund Mortimer in Wales in the reign of Henry IV, who refused to ransom him or allow his ransom. Compare i Henry IV, i. 3, 77-92." (Tancock.) See, however, the note on 655. 919. Do, cosin, and He beare thee companie. There is no authority in the chronicle for the following episode. 921. Gather head, tha.iis, coWectinoo^s. The phrase occurs, as noted by Verity in the essay cited, in The Massacre at Paris, 511 ; Titus Andronicus, IV, iv. 63 ; i Henry VI, I, iv. 100 ; 2 Henry VI, IV, V. 10. 925. And if. See note on 1. 757. 935- Dyce suggests a change of scene at this point. 944. To gather for him, i.e. to gather alms for him. Against beggars, as well as other sturdy rogues and vagabonds, there were severe laws, but a legal licence to beg was procurable when there seemed sufficient ground for it, and it is to a licence of this kind that Edward refers. Compare Jew of Malta, 787-8 : " Hoping to see them starve upon a stall. Or else be gather'd for in our Synagogue." 953 ff. The idle triumphes, etc. With this attack upon the king, compare, both as to manner and matter, the onslaught upon Gloucester, 2 Henry VI, I, iii. 125 ff . : " Suf. Resign it then and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king — as who is king but thou ? — The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck ; The Dauphin hath prevail' d beyond the seas ; And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. NOTES 141 Car. The commons hast thou rack'd ; the clergy's bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions. Som. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire Have cost a mass of public treasury. Buck. Thy cruelty in execution Upon offenders hath exceeded law And left thee to the mercy of the law. Queen. Thy sale of offices and towns in France, If they were known, as the suspect is great, Would make thee quickly hop without thy head." It may very well have been that Marlowe, in thus placing in the mouths of Mortimer and Lancaster a summary of the evil results of the king's misrule, had in mind the following passage in Holinshed, p. 325 : " Thus all the kings exploits by one means or other quailed, and came but to evill successe, so that the English nation began to grow in contempt by the infortunate government of the prince, the which as one out of the right waie, rashlie and with no good advisement ordered his dooings, which thing so greeved the noblemen of the realme, that they studied day and night by what means they might procure him to looke better to his office and dutie." 958. Thy garrisons are beaten out of Fraunce. Edward had various disputes with the king of France over the question of paying homage for his continental possessions, and after minor hostihties, open war broke out between Edward's garrisons and the French in 1324, wherein the English had much the worse. It will be seen that Marlowe has no concern to maintain a rigidly correct chronology, and he has antedated these events many years. These were the disturbances to accommodate which Queen Isabel was sent to France (see below, 11. 1357 ff.). 960. Irish Kernes. Reed quotes a description of the Irish kern from Barnaby Riche, Description of Ireland, 1610, p. 37 : " The Kerne are the very drosse and scum of the countrey, a generation of villaines not worthy to live : these be they that live by robbing and spoiling the poore countreyman, that maketh him many times to buy bread to give unto them, though he want for himselfe and his poore children. These are they, that are ready to run out with everie rebell ; and these are the verie hags of hell, fit for nothing but for the gallows." A similar account, Reed says, is given in the Second Part of The Image of Irelande, by John Derricke, 1581. Neither Holinshed, Fabyan, nor Stow mentions an O'Neill as 142 EDWARD II leading the Irish rebels who aided Edward Bruce in his en- deavours to wrest Ireland from the English. It so happens that there was an O'Neill who was of more or less importance in this struggle, but it is probable that Marlowe had never heard of him. Marlowe had rather in mind some one of the O'Neills who played so important a part in resisting the subjugation of Ireland by the English in the sixteenth century, perhaps Turlough O'Neill (d. 1595), who gave a great deal of trouble. ' The English Pale ' was the term applied to that compara- tively small portion of Ireland round about Dublin where the English authority was fairly well established and which was largely peopled by the descendants of originally English settlers. The boundaries of the Pale naturally varied considerably from time to time. Tancock notes that the First Part of the Contention between the two Noble Houses of York and Lancaster, ix. 133, has a ' curi- ously parallel ' passage : " The wilde Onele my Lords, is up in Armes, With troupes of Irish Kernes that, uncontrold. Doth plant themselves within the English pale." " The parallelism is the more curious, as Holinshed and Stow do not mention the O'Neils." But it is not so curious if we believe that Marlowe had a share in the play mentioned, and that in both passages he was thinking of recent history. The point, which seems rather a significant one, strengthens one's belief in Marlowe's part authorship of the two early Henry VI plays (see Introduction, p. xc). In 2 Henry VI the quoted passage does not appear. 962. Unto the walles of Yorke the Scots made rode. The Scotch, after the battle of Bannockburn (see below), made many inroads upon the northern parts of England, and more than once reached the vicinity of York. Of one such incursion in 1318 Hohnshed writes, p. 324 : " In their going backe they burnt Knaresbourgh, and Skipton in Craven, which they had first sacked, and so passing through the middest of the countrie, burning and spoihng all before them, they returned into Scotland with a marvellous great multitude of cattell, beside prisoners, men and women, and no small number of poore people, which they tooke with them to helpe to drive the cattell." ' Rode ' means " inroad,' or ' raid,' ' raid ' being in fact the Northern form of the same word. NOTES 143 964. The hautie Dane commands the narrow seas. Editors regularly cite 3 Henry VI, I, i. 239 : " Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas." The ' narrow seas ' are the English Channel. Editors have not seen fit to explain the somewhat curious fact that Marlowe should ascribe to Denmark control over the English Channel. Nothing of the kind is to be found in his sources, and there is no historical foundation for the line. Perhaps Marlowe may have had reference to the struggles of Denmark and the Hanse towns in the fourteenth century ; he may again have had in mind the ancient naval prowess of the Vikings ; but it is more probable that we may find the explana- tion in occurrences of his own day. In the Calendars of State Papers, Foreign Series, we may trace disputes between England and Denmark over commercial matters ; Cunningham, Growth of English Industry and Commerce, 3rd edition, II, 234, n. 5, in speaking of these disputes, says : " The Danes were inchned to give a very large interpretation to their claims in regard to ships engaged in the Russian trade " ; and Gosse, in his article on Denmark in Encycl. Brit., 1910, viii. 32, says : " Still, the fact remains that, for a time, Denmark was one of the great powers of Europe. Frederick II, in his later years (1571-88), aspired to the dominion of all the seas which washed the Scan- dinavian coasts, and before he died he was able to enforce the rule that all foreign ships should strike their topsails to Danish men-of-war as a token of his right to rule the northern seas. Favourable political circumstances also contributed to this general acknowledgment of Denmark's maritime greatness. The power of the Hansa had gone ; the Dutch were enfeebled by their contest with Spain ; England's sea-power was yet in the making ; Spain, still the greatest of the maritime nations, was exhausting her resources in the vain effort to conquer the Dutch." Denmark, of course, did not command the narrow seas in the strict sense of the term ; but these facts, of which we can hardly suppose Marlowe to have been entirely ignorant, make it easy to understand how he should have thought of the ' haughty Dane ' in this connection. 973. Againe, i.e. against. Compare modern vulgarism ' agin,' and Edward III, I, ii. 79 : " again the blasting north-east wind." 979 ff . Thy souldiers marcht like players. The passage is 144 EDWARD II suggested by Holinshed, p. 322 : " King Edward to be revenged herof, with a mightie armie bravelie furnished, and gorgiousUe apparelled, more seemelie for a triumph, than meet to incounter with the cruell enimie in the field, entred Scotland," etc. The battle of Bannockburn, June 21, 1314, resulted in a crushing defeat of the EngUsh. 985. Jig, i.e. a lively song, usually short. Oxberry wishes to explain his misreading ' ligge ' as ' lay.' 986. Maids of England. This ' jig ' is taken by Marlowe from Fabyan's Chronicle (see reprint of 1811, p. 420), Fabyan's text differing, however, in one or two unimportant particulars. Fabyan, after giving the song, goes on : " This songe was after many dayes sungyn, in daunces, in carohs of ye maydens & mynstrellys of Scotlande, to the reproofe and disdayne of Englysshe men, w* dyverse other whiche I over passe." In other words, it was one of the " vild, uncivil, skipping jigs," that " Bray forth their conquest and our overthrow. Even in the barren, bleak, and fruitless air," according to the Countess of Salisbury in Edward III, I, ii. 13 ff. 987. Lemmons, i.e. lemans. 1000. Edward, unfolde thy pawes. Compare Tamburlaine, 248-9 : " As princely Lions when they rouse themselves. Stretching their pawes, and threatening heardes of Beastes," etc. looi. Lives hloud. Many editors take ' lives ' as plural, printing ' lives'.' But it is not necessarily plural. Compare ' unto my lives end,' Lyly, Euphues and his England, ii. 25 ; ' her lives deare lord,' Spenser, Faerie Queene, vi., i. 45 ; so ' the wyves charge,' Kyd's Householders Philosophie, 271. The stock example is ' calveshead,' i.e. ' calf's head.' 1007. And therefore, brother, banish him for ever. Marlowe means us to understand that Kent has been convinced by the preceding episode that Gaveston's banishment is vitally neces- sary to the welfare of the kingdom. The point, obvious in itself, is of interest because, in Holinshed, Kent does not appear until toward the end of the reign, and because, as Tzschaschel remarks (p. 21), no explanation is there given of his opposition to Edward. Marlowe is careful to provide full reasons for his action. Here Kent joins the barons on good grounds. He is captured in the NOTES 145 battle and is banished, for so we are to understand 1. 1519 (compare 1573). It is natural that he should join the queen and Mortimer, especially as he is not cognizant of their real designs, but supposes that they intend to overthrow the Spensers as Gaveston had been overthrown. Compare 11. 1574, 1642, 1760 ff., 1788. 1029. He threatens civill wanes. Compare Tamburlaine, 156 : " Begin in troopes to threaten civill warre." ' Wars ' is an instance of what Franz, Shakespeare-Grammatik, p. 34, calls the use of a plural to express a general idea : ' to threaten wars ' is the same as ' to threaten war.' He cites many instances from Shakespeare, e.g. Coriolanus, I, iii. 112, as well as ' seas,' 3 Henry VI, I, i. 239 (see 1. 964 above) ; so ' moneys,' Merchant of Venice, I, iii. 120, ' letters,' Measure for Measure, IV, iii. 97. Compare ' Heavens,' U. 1104, 1997, and see Schau, Sprache und Grammatik der Dramen Marlowes, 1901, 21. 1045. Well alied, i.e. of good family. 'Allies' was used for ' kinsfolk,' as in Lyly's Euphues, II, 19. 1049. Stile, i.e. title ; a frequent use of the term. 1054. Our neece. The elder Gilbert de Clare (see note on 719) had married Joan of Acre, sister of Edward II. Thus both of Edward's favourites were closely allied to him in marriage. 1061. St. dir. Enter Lancaster. Scene 7. Near Tynmouth Castle (Dyce). 1068. He is your brother, therefore have we cause. So in 3 Henry VI, IV, ii. 6 ff ., after Clarence has suddenly joined War- wick and Oxford, Warwick says : " I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love ; Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother. Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings." 1075. I have enformed the Earle of Lancaster. We must assume that between 11. 1066-7 ^ri