Q. Isab. Brother Edmund, strive not; we are his friends;

Isabel is nearer than the Earl of Kent.

Kent. Sister, Edward is my charge; redeem him. Q. Isab. Edward is my son, and I will keep him.

Kent. Mortimer shall know that he hath wrongèd me!

Hence will I haste to Killingworth Castle

(Aside.)

And rescue agèd Edward from his foes, To be reveng'd on Mortimer and thee. [Exeunt on one side Queen Isabella, Prince Edward, and Young Mortimer; on the other, Kent.

SCENE III. Near Killingworth Castle. Enter Matrevis and Gurney and Soldiers, with King Edward. Mat. My lord, be not pensive, we are your friends; Men are ordained to live in misery,

Therefore come; dalliance dangereth our lives.

K. Edw. Friends, whither must unhappy Edward go?

Will hateful Mortimer appoint no rest?

Must I be vexed like the nightly bird,

Whose sight is loathsome to all winged fowls?
When will the fury of his mind assuage?
When will his heart be satisfied with blood?

If mine will serve, unbowel straight this breast,
And give my heart to Isabel and him:

It is the chiefest mark they level1 at.

1 aim.

Gur. Not so, my liege; the queen hath given this

charge

To keep your grace in safety;

Your passions make your dolours to increase.

K. Edw. This usage makes my misery increase. But can my air of life continue long When all my senses are annoy'd with stench? Within a dungeon England's king is kept, Where I am starv'd for want of sustenance; My daily diet is heart-breaking sobs, That almost rents 1 the closet of my heart; Thus lives old Edward not reliev'd by any, And so must die, though pitièd by many. O, water, gentle friends, to cool my thirst, And clear my body from foul excrements!

Mat. Here's channel2 water, as our charge is given: Sit down, for we'll be barbers to your grace.

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

Gur. No; but wash your face, and shave away your beard,

Lest you be known, and so be rescued.

Mat. Why strive you thus? your labour is in vain! K. Edw. The wren may strive against the lion's strength,

But all in vain: so vainly do I strive

To seek for mercy at a tyrant's hand.

(They wash him with puddle water, and shave off his beard.)

Immortal powers, that know the painful cares
That wait upon my poor distressèd soul,

O level all your looks upon these daring men,
That wrong their liege and sovereign, England's king!
O Gaveston, 'tis for thee that I am wrong'd,
For me, both thou and both the Spencers died!
And for your sakes a thousand wrongs I'll take.
The Spencers' ghosts, wherever they remain,
Wish well to mine; then, tush, for them I'll die.
Mat. 'Twixt theirs and yours shall be no enmity.
Come, come away! now put the torches out:
We'll enter in by darkness to Killingworth.

KING EDWARD THE THIRD

YOUNG, ambitious, and assured of the support of the great nobles, Edward III. was eager for valiant deeds. The French succession was in dispute, and Edward, the only surviving grandson of Philip the Fair, laid claim to the crown. In the first years of the long war that followed, the English were brilliantly successful. At the battle of Cressy (1346), the French forces were driven from the field, and the Black Prince won his spurs.

ACT III

SCENE V. During the Battle of Cressy.

(Drums. Enter King Edward and Audley.)

K. Edw. Lord Audley, whiles our son is in the chase,

Withdraw your powers 1 unto this little hill,

And here a season let us breathe ourselves.

1 forces.

Aud. I will, my lord.

[Exit. Retreat.

K. Edw. Just dooming Heaven, whose secret

providence

To our gross judgment is inscrutable,

How are we bound to praise thy wondrous works,
That hast this day giv'n way unto the right

And made the wicked stumble at themselves!

(Enter Artois, hastily.)

Art. Rescue, King Edward! rescue for thy son! K. Edw. Rescue, Artois? what, is he prisoner? Or by violence fell beside his horse?

Art. Neither, my lord; but narrowly beset With turning Frenchmen whom he did pursue, As 'tis impossible that he should 'scape

Except your highness presently descend.

K. Edw. Tut, let him fight; we gave him arms to-day,

And he is labouring for a knighthood, man.

(Enter Derby, hastily.)

Der. The prince, my lord, the prince! O, succour him;

He's close encompass'd with a world of odds!

K. Edw. Then will he win a world of honour too

If he by valour can redeem him thence:

If not, what remedy? we have more sons

Than one, to comfort our declining age.

(Reënter Audley, hastily.)

Aud. Renowned Edward, give me leave, I pray, To lead my soldiers where I may relieve

Your grace's son, in danger to be slain.

The snares of French, like emmets on a bank,
Muster about him; whilst he, lion-like,
Entangled in the net of their assaults,
Franticly rends and bites the woven toil:

But all in vain, he cannot free himself.

K. Edw. Audley, content; I will not have a man,
On pain of death, sent forth to succour him :
This is the day ordain'd by destiny

To season his courage with those grievous thoughts,
That, if he breathe out Nestor's years on earth,
Will make him savour still of this exploit.

Der. Ah, but he shall not live to see those days. K. Edw. Why, then his epitaph is lasting praise. Aud. Yet, good my lord, 'tis too much wilfulness, To let his blood be spilt that may be sav'd.

K. Edw. Exclaim no more; for none of you can tell

Whether a borrow'd aid will serve or no.

Perhaps, he is already slain or ta'en:
And dare1 a falcon when she's in her flight,
And ever after she'll be haggard-like : 2
Let Edward be deliver'd by our hands,
And still in danger he'll expect the like;

But if himself himself redeem from thence,

He will have vanquish'd, cheerful, death and fear,
And ever after dread their force no more

Than if they were but babes or captive slaves.
Aud. O cruel father! - Farewell, Edward, then!
2 wild, untrusty.

1 balk.