Scene
VI
The Abbey of Neath, Glamorganshire.
Enter the Abbot, Monks, King Edward, the Younger Spenser, and Baldock, the latter three disguised.
Abbot
Have you no doubt, my lord; have you no fear:
As silent and as careful we will be
To keep your royal person safe with us,
Free from suspect, and fell invasion
Of such as have your majesty in chase,
Yourself, and those your chosen company,
As danger of this stormy time requires.
King Edward
Father, thy face should harbour no deceit.
O, hadst thou ever been a king, thy heart,
Pierced deeply with sense of my distress,
Could not but take compassion of my state!
Stately and proud in riches and in train,
Whilom I was, powerful and full of pomp:
But what is he whom rule and empery
Have not in life or death made miserable?—
Come, Spenser—come, Baldock—come, sit down by me;
Make trial now of that philosophy
That in our famous nurseries of arts
Thou suckedst from Plato and from Aristotle.—
Father, this life contemplative is heaven:
O, that I might this life in quiet lead!
But we, alas, are chased!—and you, my friends,
Your lives and my dishonour they pursue.—
Yet, gentle monks, for treasure, gold, nor fee,
Do you betray us and our company.
First Monk
Your grace may sit secure, if none but we
Do wot of your abode.
Younger Spenser
Not one alive: but shrewdly I suspect
A gloomy fellow in a mead below;
’A gave a long look after us, my lord;
And all the land, I know, is up in arms,
Arms that pursue our lives with deadly hate.
Baldock
We were embarked for Ireland; wretched we,
With awkward winds and with sore tempests driven,
To fall on shore, and here to pine in fear
Of Mortimer and his confederates!
King Edward
Mortimer! who talks of Mortimer?
Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer,
That bloody man?—Good father, on thy lap
Lay I this head, laden with mickle care.
O, might I never ope these eyes again!
Never again lift up this drooping head!
O, never more lift up this dying heart!
Younger Spenser
Look up, my lord.—Baldock, this drowsiness
Betides no good; here even we are betrayed.
Enter, with Welsh hooks, Rice ap Howel, a Mower, and Leicester.
Mower
Upon my life, these be the men ye seek.
Rice ap Howel
Fellow, enough.—My lord, I pray, be short;
A fair commission warrants what we do.
Leicester
The queen’s commission, urged by Mortimer:
What cannot gallant Mortimer with the queen?—
Alas, see where he sits, and hopes unseen
To escape their hands that seek to reave his life!
Too true it is, Quem dies vidit veniens superbum,
Hunc dies vidit fugiens jacentem.
But, Leicester, leave to grow so passionate.—
Spenser and Baldock, by no other names,
I arrest you of high treason here.
Stand not on titles, but obey the arrest:
’Tis in the name of Isabel the queen.—
My lord, why droop you thus?
King Edward
O day, the last of all my bliss on earth!
Centre of all misfortune! O my stars,
Why do you lour unkindly on a king?
Comes Leicester, then, in Isabella’s name,
To take my life, my company from me?
Here, man, rip up this panting breast of mine,
And take my heart in rescue of my friends.
Rice ap Howel
Away with them!
Younger Spenser
It may become thee yet
To let us take our farewell of his grace.
Abbott
Aside. My heart with pity earns to see this sight;
A king to bear these words and proud commands!
King Edward
Spenser, ah, sweet Spenser, thus, then, must we part?
Younger Spenser
We must, my lord; so will the angry heavens.
King Edward
Nay, so will hell and cruel Mortimer:
The gentle heavens have not to do in this.
Baldock
My lord, it is in vain to grieve or storm.
Here humbly of your grace we take our leaves:
Our lots are cast; I fear me, so is thine.
King Edward
In heaven we may, in earth ne’er shall we meet:—
And, Leicester, say, what shall become of us?
Leicester
Your majesty must go to Killingworth.
King Edward
Must! it is somewhat hard when kings must go.
Leicester
Here is a litter ready for your grace,
That waits your pleasure, and the day grows old.
Rice ap Howel
As good be gone, as stay and be benighted.
King Edward
A litter hast thou? lay me in a hearse,
And to the gates of hell convey me hence;
Let Pluto’s bells ring out my fatal knell,
And hags howl for my death at Charon’s shore;
For friends hath Edward none but these,
And these must die under a tyrant’s sword.
Rice ap Howel
My lord, be going: care not for these;
For we shall see them shorter by the heads.
King Edward
Well, that shall be shall be: part we must;
Sweet Spenser, gentle Baldock, part we must.—
Hence, feigned weeds! unfeigned are my woes; Throwing off his disguise.
Father, farewell.—Leicester, thou stay’st for me;
And go I must.—Life, farewell, with my friends!
Exeunt King Edward and Leicester.
Younger Spenser
O! is he gone? is noble Edward gone?
Parted from hence, never to see us more!
Rend, sphere of heaven! and, fire, forsake thy orb!
Earth, melt to air! gone is my sovereign,
Gone, gone, alas, never to make return!
Baldock
Spenser, I see our souls are fleeting hence;
We are deprived the sunshine of our life.
Make for a new life, man; throw up thy eyes
And heart and hand to heaven’s immortal throne;
Pay nature’s debt with cheerful countenance;
Reduce we all our lessons unto this—
To die, sweet Spenser, therefore live we all;
Spenser, all live to die, and rise to fall.
Rice ap Howel
Come, come, keep these preachments till you come to
the place appointed. You, and such as you are, have
made wise work in England. Will your lordships away?
Mow
Your lordship I trust will remember me?
Rice ap Howel
Remember thee, fellow! what else? Follow me to the town.
Exeunt.