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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* This etext was prepared by the PG Shakespeare Team, a team of about twenty Project Gutenberg volunteers. King Edward the Third The Reign of King Edward the Third, attributed in part to William Shakespeare. PERSONS REPRESENTED. EDWARD THE THIRD, King of England. EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his Son. Earl of WARWICK. Earl of DERBY. Earl of SALISBURY. Lord AUDLEY. Lord PERCY. LODOWICK, Edward's Confident. Sir WILLIAM MOUNTAGUE. Sir JOHN COPLAND. Two ESQUIRES, and a HERALD, English. ROBERT, styling himself Earl, of Artois. Earl of MONTFORT, and GOBIN DE GREY. JOHN, King of France. CHARLES, and PHILIP, his Sons. Duke of LORRAIN. VILLIERS, a French Lord. King of BOHEMIA, Aid to King John. A POLISH CAPTAIN, Aid to King John. Six CITIZENS of Calais. A CAPTAIN, and A POOR INHABITANT, of the same. Another CAPTAIN. A MARINER. Three HERALDS; and Four other FRENCHMEN. DAVID, King of Scotland. Earl DOUGLAS; and Two MESSENGERS, Scotch. PHILIPPA, Edward's Queen. Countess of SALISBURY. A FRENCH WOMAN. Lords, and divers other Attendants; Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, &c. Scene, dispers'd; in England, Flanders, and France. ACT I. SCENE I. London. A Room of State in the Palace. Flourish. [Enter King Edward, Derby, Prince Edward, Audley, and Artois.] KING EDWARD. Robert of Artois, banished though thou be >From France, thy native Country, yet with us Thou shalt retain as great a Seigniorie: For we create thee Earl of Richmond here. And now go forwards with our pedigree: Who next succeeded Phillip le Bew? ARTOIS. Three sons of his, which all successfully Did sit upon their father's regal Throne, Yet died, and left no issue of their loins. KING EDWARD. But was my mother sister unto those? ARTOIS. She was, my Lord; and only Isabel Was all the daughters that this Phillip 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 rancor of rebellious minds: When thus the lineage of le Bew was out, The French obscured your mother's Privilege, And, though she were the next of blood, proclaimed 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: But they shall find that forged ground of theirs To be but dusty heaps of brittle sand. Perhaps it will be thought a heinous thing, That I, a French man, should discover this; But heaven I call to record of my vows: It is not hate nor any private wrong, But love unto my country and the right, Provokes my tongue, thus lavish in report. You are the lineal watchman of our peace, And John of Valois indirectly climbs; What then should subjects but embrace their King? Ah, where in may our duty more be seen, Than striving to rebate a tyrant's pride And place the true shepherd of our commonwealth? KING EDWARD. This counsel, Artois, like to fruitful showers, Hath added growth unto my dignity; And, by the fiery vigor of thy words, Hot courage is engendered in my breast, Which heretofore was raked in ignorance, But now doth mount with golden wings of fame, And will approve fair Isabel's descent, Able to yoke their stubborn necks with steel, That spurn against my sovereignty in France. [Sound a horn.] A messenger?--Lord Audley, know from whence. [Exit Audley, and returns.] AUDLEY. The Duke of Lorrain, having crossed the seas, Entreats he may have conference with your highness. KING EDWARD. Admit him, Lords, that we may hear the news. [Exeunt Lords. King takes his State. Re-enter Lords; with Lorrain, attended.] Say, Duke of Lorrain, wherefore art thou come? LORRAIN. The most renowned prince, King John of France, Doth greet thee, Edward, and by me commands, That, for so much as by his liberal gift The Guyen Dukedom is entailed to thee, Thou do him lowly homage for the same. And, for that purpose, here I summon thee, Repair to France within these forty days, That there, according as the custom is, Thou mayst be sworn true liegeman to our King; Or else thy title in that province dies, And he him self will repossess the place. KING EDWARD. See, how occasion laughs me in the face! No sooner minded to prepare for France, But straight I am invited,--nay, with threats, Upon a penalty, enjoined to come: Twere but a childish part to say him nay.-- Lorrain, return this answer to thy Lord: I mean to visit him as he requests; But how? not servilely disposed to bend, But like a conqueror to make him bow. His lame unpolished shifts are come to light; And truth hath pulled the vizard from his face, That set a gloss upon his arrogance. Dare he command a fealty in me? Tell him, the Crown that he usurps, is mine, And where he sets his foot, he ought to kneel. Tis not a petty Dukedom that I claim, But all the whole Dominions of the Realm; Which if with grudging he refuse to yield, I'll take away those borrowed plumes of his, And send him naked to the wilderness. LORRAIN. Then, Edward, here, in spite of all thy Lords, I do pronounce defiance to thy face. PRINCE EDWARD. Defiance, French man? we rebound it back, Even to the bottom of thy master's throat. And, be it spoke with reverence of the King, My gracious father, and these other Lords, I hold thy message but as scurrilous, And him that sent thee, like the lazy drone, Crept up by stealth unto the Eagle's nest; >From whence we'll shake him with so rough a storm, As others shall be warned by his harm. WARWICK. Bid him leave of the Lyons case he wears, Least, meeting with the Lyon in the field, He chance to tear him piecemeal for his pride. ARTOIS. The soundest counsel I can give his grace, Is to surrender ere he be constrained. A voluntary mischief hath less scorn, Than when reproach with violence is borne. LORRAIN. Degenerate Traitor, viper to the place Where thou was fostered in thine infancy, Bearest thou a part in this conspiracy? [He draws his sword.] KING EDWARD. Lorrain, behold the sharpness of this steel: [Drawing his.] Fervent desire that sits against my heart, Is far more thorny pricking than this blade; That, with the nightingale, I shall be scared, As oft as I dispose my self to rest, Until my colours be displayed in France: This is my final Answer; so be gone. LORRAIN. It is not that, nor any English brave, Afflicts me so, as doth his poisoned view, That is most false, should most of all be true. [Exeunt Lorrain, and Train.] KING EDWARD. Now, Lord, our fleeting Bark is under sail; Our gage is thrown, and war is soon begun, But not so quickly brought unto an end. [Enter Mountague.] But wherefore comes Sir William Mountague? How stands the league between the Scot and us? MOUNTAGUE. Cracked and dissevered, my renowned Lord. The treacherous King no sooner was informed Of your with drawing of your army back, But straight, forgetting of his former oath, He made invasion on the bordering Towns: Barwick is won, Newcastle spoiled and lost, And now the tyrant hath begirt with siege The Castle of Rocksborough, where inclosed The Countess Salisbury is like to perish. KING EDWARD. That is thy daughter, Warwick, is it not? Whose husband hath in Brittain served so long About the planting of Lord Mountford there? WARWICK. It is, my Lord. KING EDWARD. Ignoble David! hast thou none to grieve But silly Ladies with thy threatening arms? But I will make you shrink your snaily horns! First, therefore, Audley, this shall be thy charge, Go levy footmen for our wars in France; And, Ned, take muster of our men at arms: In every shire elect a several band. Let them be Soldiers of a lusty spirit, Such as dread nothing but dishonor's blot; Be wary, therefore, since we do commence A famous War, and with so mighty a nation. Derby, be thou Ambassador for us Unto our Father in Law, the Earl of Henalt: Make him acquainted with our enterprise, And likewise will him, with our own allies That are in Flanders, to solicit to The Emperour of Almaigne in our name. My self, whilst you are jointly thus employed, Will, with these forces that I have at hand, March, and once more repulse the traitorous Scot. But, Sirs, be resolute: we shall have wars On every side; and, Ned, thou must begin Now to forget thy study and thy books, And ure thy shoulders to an Armor's weight. PRINCE EDWARD. As cheerful sounding to my youthful spleen This tumult is of war's increasing broils, As, at the Coronation of a king, The joyful clamours of the people are, When Ave, Caesar! they pronounce aloud. Within this school of honor I shall learn Either to sacrifice my foes to death, Or in a rightful quarrel spend my breath. Then cheerfully forward, each a several way; In great affairs tis nought to use delay. [Exeunt.] ACT I. SCENE II. Roxborough. Before the Castle. [Enter the Countess.] COUNTESS. Alas, how much in vain my poor eyes gaze For succour that my sovereign should send! Ah, cousin Mountague, I fear thou wants The lively spirit, sharply to solicit With vehement suit the king in my behalf: Thou dost not tell him, what a grief it is To be the scornful captive of a Scot, Either to be wooed with broad untuned oaths, Or forced by rough insulting barbarism; Thou doest not tell him, if he here prevail, How much they will deride us in the North, And, in their wild, uncivil, skipping gigs, Bray forth their Conquest and our overthrow Even in the barren, bleak, and fruitless air. [Enter David and Douglas, Lorrain.] I must withdraw, the everlasting foe Comes to the wall; I'll closely step aside, And list their babble, blunt and full of pride. KING DAVID. My Lord of Lorrain, to our brother of France Commend us, as the man in Christendom That we most reverence and entirely love. Touching your embassage, return and say, That we with England will not enter parley, Nor never make fair weather, or take truce; But burn their neighbor towns, and so persist With eager Rods beyond their City York. And never shall our bonny riders rest, Nor rusting canker have the time to eat Their light borne snaffles nor their nimble spurs, Nor lay aside their Jacks of Gymould mayle, Nor hang their staves of grained Scottish ash In peaceful wise upon their City walls, Nor from their buttoned tawny leathern belts Dismiss their biting whinyards, till your King Cry out: Enough, spare England now for pity! Farewell, and tell him that you leave us here Before this Castle; say, you came from us, Even when we had that yielded to our hands. LORRAIN. I take my leave, and fairly will return Your acceptable greeting to my king. [Exit Lorrain.] KING DAVID. Now, Douglas, to our former task again, For the division of this certain spoil. DOUGLAS. My liege, I crave the Lady, and no more. KING DAVID. Nay, soft ye, sir; first I must make my choice, And first I do bespeak her for my self. DOUGLAS. Why then, my liege, let me enjoy her jewels. KING DAVID. Those are her own, still liable to her, And who inherits her, hath those with all. [Enter a Scot in haste.] MESSENGER. My liege, as we were pricking on the hills, To fetch in booty, marching hitherward, We might descry a might host of men; The Sun, reflecting on the armour, shewed A field of plate, a wood of picks advanced. Bethink your highness speedily herein: An easy march within four hours will bring The hindmost rank unto this place, my liege. KING DAVID. Dislodge, dislodge! it is the king of England. DOUGLAS. Jemmy, my man, saddle my bonny black. KING DAVID. Meanst thou to fight, Douglas? we are too weak. DOUGLAS. I know it well, my liege, and therefore fly. COUNTESS. My Lords of Scotland, will ye stay and drink? KING DAVID. She mocks at us, Douglas; I cannot endure it. COUNTESS. Say, good my Lord, which is he must have the Lady, And which her jewels? I am sure, my Lords, Ye will not hence, till you have shared the spoils. KING DAVID. She heard the messenger, and heard our talk; And now that comfort makes her scorn at us. [Another messenger.] MESSENGER. Arm, my good Lord! O, we are all surprised! COUNTESS. After the French ambassador, my liege, And tell him, that you dare not ride to York; Excuse it that your bonny horse is lame. KING DAVID. She heard that too; intolerable grief! Woman, farewell! Although I do not stay... [Exeunt Scots.] COUNTESS. Tis not for fear, and yet you run away.-- O happy comfort, welcome to our house! The confident and boisterous boasting Scot, That swore before my walls they would not back For all the armed power of this land, With faceless fear that ever turns his back, Turned hence against the blasting North-east wind Upon the bare report and name of Arms. [Enter Mountague.] O Summer's day! See where my Cousin comes! MOUNTAGUE. How fares my Aunt? We are not Scots; Why do you shut your gates against your friends? COUNTESS. Well may I give a welcome, Cousin, to thee, For thou comst well to chase my foes from hence. MOUNTAGUE. The king himself is come in person hither; Dear Aunt, descend, and gratulate his highness. COUNTESS. How may I entertain his Majesty, To shew my duty and his dignity? [Exit, from above.] [Enter King Edward, Warwick, Artois, with others.] KING EDWARD. What, are the stealing Foxes fled and gone, Before we could uncouple at their heels? WARWICK. They are, my liege; but, with a cheerful cry, Hot hounds and hardy chase them at the heels. [Enter Countess.] KING EDWARD. This is the Countess, Warwick, is it not? WARWICK. Even she, my liege; whose beauty tyrants fear, As a May blossom with pernicious winds, Hath sullied, withered, overcast, and done. KING EDWARD. Hath she been fairer, Warwick, than she is? WARWICK. My gracious King, fair is she not at all, If that her self were by to stain her self, As I have scene her when she was her self. KING EDWARD. What strange enchantment lurked in those her eyes, When they excelled this excellence they have, That now her dim decline hath power to draw My subject eyes from persing majesty, To gaze on her with doting admiration? COUNTESS. In duty lower than the ground I kneel, And for my dull knees bow my feeling heart, To witness my obedience to your highness, With many millions of a subject's thanks For this your Royal presence, whose approach Hath driven war and danger from my gate. KING EDWARD. Lady, stand up; I come to bring thee peace, How ever thereby I have purchased war. COUNTESS. No war to you, my liege; the Scots are gone, And gallop home toward Scotland with their hate. KING EDWARD. Least, yielding here, I pine in shameful love, Come, we'll pursue the Scots;--Artois, away! COUNTESS. A little while, my gracious sovereign, stay, And let the power of a mighty king Honor our roof; my husband in the wars, When he shall hear it, will triumph for joy; Then, dear my liege, now niggard not thy state: Being at the wall, enter our homely gate. KING EDWARD. Pardon me, countess, I will come no near; I dreamed to night of treason, and I fear. COUNTESS. Far from this place let ugly treason lie! KING EDWARD. No farther off, than her conspiring eye, Which shoots infected poison in my heart, Beyond repulse of wit or cure of Art. Now, in the Sun alone it doth not lie, With light to take light from a mortal eye; For here two day stars that mine eyes would see More than the Sun steals mine own light from me, Contemplative desire, desire to be In contemplation, that may master thee! Warwick, Artois, to horse and let's away! COUNTESS. What might I speak to make my sovereign stay? KING EDWARD. What needs a tongue to such a speaking eye, That more persuades than winning Oratory? COUNTESS. Let not thy presence, like the April sun, Flatter our earth and suddenly be done. More happy do not make our outward wall Than thou wilt grace our inner house withal. Our house, my liege, is like a Country swain, Whose habit rude and manners blunt and plain Presageth nought, yet inly beautified With bounties, riches and faire hidden pride. For where the golden Ore doth buried lie, The ground, undecked with nature's tapestry, Seems barren, sere, unfertile, fructless, dry; And where the upper turf of earth doth boast His pied perfumes and party coloured coat, Delve there, and find this issue and their pride To spring from ordure and corruption's side. But, to make up my all too long compare, These ragged walls no testimony are, What is within; but, like a cloak, doth hide >From weather's Waste the under garnished pride. More gracious then my terms can let thee be, Intreat thy self to stay a while with me. KING EDWARD. As wise, as fair; what fond fit can be heard, When wisdom keeps the gate as beauty's guard?-- It shall attend, while I attend on thee: Come on, my Lords; here will I host to night. [Exeunt.] ACT II. SCENE I. The Same. Gardens of the Castle. [Enter Lodowick.] LODOWICK. I might perceive his eye in her eye lost, His ear to drink her sweet tongue's utterance, And changing passion, like inconstant clouds That rack upon the carriage of the winds, Increase and die in his disturbed cheeks. Lo, when she blushed, even then did he look pale, As if her cheeks by some enchanted power Attracted had the cherry blood from his: Anon, with reverent fear when she grew pale, His cheeks put on their scarlet ornaments; But no more like her oriental red, Than Brick to Coral or live things to dead. Why did he then thus counterfeit her looks? If she did blush, twas tender modest shame, Being in the sacred presence of a King; If he did blush, twas red immodest shame, To veil his eyes amiss, being a king; If she looked pale, twas silly woman's fear, To bear her self in presence of a king; If he looked pale, it was with guilty fear, To dote amiss, being a mighty king. Then, Scottish wars, farewell; I fear twill prove A lingering English siege of peevish love. Here comes his highness, walking all alone. [Enter King Edward.] KING EDWARD. She is grown more fairer far since I came hither, Her voice more silver every word than other, Her wit more fluent. What a strange discourse Unfolded she of David and his Scots! 'Even thus', quoth she, 'he spake', and then spoke broad, With epithites and accents of the Scot, But somewhat better than the Scot could speak: 'And thus', quoth she, and answered then her self-- For who could speak like her but she her self-- Breathes from the wall an Angel's note from Heaven Of sweet defiance to her barbarous foes. When she would talk of peace, me thinks, her tongue Commanded war to prison; when of war, It wakened Caesar from his Roman grave, To hear war beautified by her discourse. Wisdom is foolishness but in her tongue, Beauty a slander but in her fair face, There is no summer but in her cheerful looks, Nor frosty winter but in her disdain. I cannot blame the Scots that did besiege her, For she is all the Treasure of our land; But call them cowards, that they ran away, Having so rich and fair a cause to stay.-- Art thou there, Lodowick? Give me ink and paper. LODOWICK. I will, my liege. KING EDWARD. And bid the Lords hold on their play at Chess, For we will walk and meditate alone. LODOWICK. I will, my sovereign. [Exit Lodowick.] KING EDWARD. This fellow is well read in poetry, And hath a lusty and persuasive spirit; I will acquaint him with my passion, Which he shall shadow with a veil of lawn, Through which the Queen of beauties Queen shall see Her self the ground of my infirmity. [Enter Lodowick.] KING EDWARD. hast thou pen, ink, and paper ready, Lodowick? LODOWICK. Ready, my liege. KING EDWARD. Then in the summer arbor sit by me, Make it our counsel house or cabinet: Since green our thoughts, green be the conventicle, Where we will ease us by disburdening them. Now, Lodowick, invocate some golden Muse, To bring thee hither an enchanted pen, That may for sighs set down true sighs indeed, Talking of grief, to make thee ready groan; And when thou writest of tears, encouch the word Before and after with such sweet laments, That it may raise drops in a Tartar's eye, And make a flintheart Scythian pitiful; For so much moving hath a Poet's pen: Then, if thou be a Poet, move thou so, And be enriched by thy sovereign's love. For, if the touch of sweet concordant strings Could force attendance in the ears of hell, How much more shall the strains of poets' wit Beguile and ravish soft and humane minds? LODOWICK. To whom, my Lord, shall I direct my stile? KING EDWARD. To one that shames the fair and sots the wise; Whose bod is an abstract or a brief, Contains each general virtue in the world. Better than beautiful thou must begin, Devise for fair a fairer word than fair, And every ornament that thou wouldest praise, Fly it a pitch above the soar of praise. For flattery fear thou not to be convicted; For, were thy admiration ten times more, Ten times ten thousand more the worth exceeds Of that thou art to praise, thy praises worth. Begin; I will to contemplate the while: Forget not to set down, how passionate, How heart sick, and how full of languishment, Her beauty makes me. LODOWICK. Write I to a woman? KING EDWARD. What beauty else could triumph over me, Or who but women do our love lays greet? What, thinkest thou I did bid thee praise a horse? LODOWICK. Of what condition or estate she is, Twere requisite that I should know, my Lord. KING EDWARD. Of such estate, that hers is as a throne, And my estate the footstool where she treads: Then maist thou judge what her condition is By the proportion of her mightiness. Write on, while I peruse her in my thoughts.-- Her voice to music or the nightingale-- To music every summer leaping swain Compares his sunburnt lover when she speaks; And why should I speak of the nightingale? The nightingale sings of adulterate wrong, And that, compared, is too satyrical; For sin, though sin, would not be so esteemed, But, rather, virtue sin, sin virtue deemed. Her hair, far softer than the silk worm's twist, Like to a flattering glass, doth make more fair The yellow Amber:--like a flattering glass Comes in too soon; for, writing of her eyes, I'll say that like a glass they catch the sun, And thence the hot reflection doth rebound Against the breast, and burns my heart within. Ah, what a world of descant makes my soul Upon this voluntary ground of love!-- Come, Lodowick, hast thou turned thy ink to gold? If not, write but in letters Capital My mistress' name, and it will gild thy paper: Read, Lord, read; Fill thou the empty hollows of mine ears With the sweet hearing of thy poetry. LODOWICK. I have not to a period brought her praise. KING EDWARD. Her praise is as my love, both infinite, Which apprehend such violent extremes, That they disdain an ending period. Her beauty hath no match but my affection; Hers more than most, mine most and more than more: Hers more to praise than tell the sea by drops, Nay, more than drop the massy earth by sands, And sand by sand print them in memory: Then wherefore talkest thou of a period To that which craves unended admiration? Read, let us hear. LODOWICK. 'More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades,'-- KING EDWARD. That line hath two faults, gross and palpable: Comparest thou her to the pale queen of night, Who, being set in dark, seems therefore light? What is she, when the sun lifts up his head, But like a fading taper, dim and dead? My love shall brave the eye of heaven at noon, And, being unmasked, outshine the golden sun. LODOWICK. What is the other fault, my sovereign Lord? KING EDWARD. Read o'er the line again. LODOWICK. 'More fair and chaste'-- KING EDWARD. I did not bid thee talk of chastity, To ransack so the treasure of her mind; For I had rather have her chased than chaste. Out with the moon line, I will none of it; And let me have her likened to the sun: Say she hath thrice more splendour than the sun, That her perfections emulate the sun, That she breeds sweets as plenteous as the sun, That she doth thaw cold winter like the sun, That she doth cheer fresh summer like the sun, The she doth dazzle gazers like the sun; And, in this application to the sun, Bid her be free and general as the sun, Who smiles upon the basest weed that grows As lovingly as on the fragrant rose. Let's see what follows that same moonlight line. LODOWICK. 'More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades, More bold in constance'-- KING EDWARD. In constance! than who? LODOWICK. 'Than Judith was.' KING EDWARD. O monstrous line! Put in the next a sword, And I shall woo her to cut of my head. Blot, blot, good Lodowick! Let us hear the next. LODOWICK. There's all that yet is done. KING EDWARD. I thank thee then; thou hast done little ill, But what is done, is passing, passing ill. No, let the Captain talk of boisterous war, The prisoner of emured dark constraint, The sick man best sets down the pangs of death, The man that starves the sweetness of a feast, The frozen soul the benefit of fire, And every grief his happy opposite: Love cannot sound well but in lover's tongues; Give me the pen and paper, I will write. [Enter Countess.] But soft, here comes the treasurer of my spirit.-- Lodowick, thou knowst not how to draw a battle; These wings, these flankers, and these squadrons Argue in thee defective discipline: Thou shouldest have placed this here, this other here. COUNTESS. Pardon my boldness, my thrice gracious Lords; Let my intrusion here be called my duty, That comes to see my sovereign how he fares. KING EDWARD. Go, draw the same, I tell thee in what form. LODOWICK. I go. [Exit Lodowick.] COUNTESS. Sorry I am to see my liege so sad: What may thy subject do to drive from thee Thy gloomy consort, sullome melancholy? KING EDWARD. Ah, Lady, I am blunt and cannot straw The flowers of solace in a ground of shame:-- Since I came hither, Countess, I am wronged. COUNTESS. Now God forbid that any in my house Should think my sovereign wrong! Thrice gentle King, Acquaint me with your cause of discontent. KING EDWARD. How near then shall I be to remedy? COUNTESS. As near, my Liege, as all my woman's power Can pawn it self to buy thy remedy. KING EDWARD. If thou speakst true, then have I my redress: Engage thy power to redeem my Joys, And I am joyful, Countess; else I die. COUNTESS. I will, my Liege. KING EDWARD. Swear, Countess, that thou wilt. COUNTESS. By heaven, I will. KING EDWARD. Then take thy self a little way a side, And tell thy self, a King doth dote on thee; Say that within thy power it doth lie To make him happy, and that thou hast sworn To give him all the Joy within thy power: Do this, and tell me when I shall be happy. COUNTESS. All this is done, my thrice dread sovereign: That power of love, that I have power to give, Thou hast with all devout obedience; Employ me how thou wilt in proof thereof. KING EDWARD. Thou hearst me say that I do dote on thee. COUNTESS. If on my beauty, take it if thou canst; Though little, I do prize it ten times less; If on my virtue, take it if thou canst, For virtue's store by giving doth augment; Be it on what it will, that I can give And thou canst take away, inherit it. KING EDWARD. It is thy beauty that I would enjoy. COUNTESS. O, were it painted, I would wipe it off And dispossess my self, to give it thee. But, sovereign, it is soldered to my life: Take one and both; for, like an humble shadow, It haunts the sunshine of my summer's life. KING EDWARD. But thou maist lend it me to sport with all. COUNTESS. As easy may my intellectual soul Be lent away, and yet my body live, As lend my body, palace to my soul, Away from her, and yet retain my soul. My body is her bower, her Court, her abbey, And she an Angel, pure, divine, unspotted: If I should leave her house, my Lord, to thee, I kill my poor soul and my poor soul me. KING EDWARD. Didst thou not swear to give me what I would? COUNTESS. I did, my liege, so what you would I could. KING EDWARD. I wish no more of thee than thou maist give:-- Nor beg I do not, but I rather buy-- That is, thy love; and for that love of thine In rich exchange I tender to thee mine. COUNTESS. But that your lips were sacred, my Lord, You would profane the holy name of love. That love you offer me you cannot give, For Caesar owes that tribute to his Queen; That love you beg of me I cannot give, For Sara owes that duty to her Lord. He that doth clip or counterfeit your stamp Shall die, my Lord; and will your sacred self Commit high treason against the King of heaven, To stamp his Image in forbidden metal, Forgetting your allegiance and your oath? In violating marriage sacred law, You break a greater honor than your self: To be a King is of a younger house Than to be married; your progenitour, Sole reigning Adam on the universe, By God was honored for a married man, But not by him anointed for a king. It is a penalty to break your statutes, Though not enacted with your highness' hand: How much more, to infringe the holy act, Made by the mouth of God, sealed with his hand? I know, my sovereign, in my husband's love, Who now doth loyal service in his wars, Doth but so try the wife of Salisbury, Whither she will hear a wanton's tale or no, Lest being therein guilty by my stay, >From that, not from my liege, I turn away. [Exit.] KING EDWARD. Whether is her beauty by her words dying, Or are her words sweet chaplains to her beauty? Like as the wind doth beautify a sail, And as a sail becomes the unseen wind, So do her words her beauties, beauties words. O, that I were a honey gathering bee, To bear the comb of virtue from this flower, And not a poison sucking envious spider, To turn the juice I take to deadly venom! Religion is austere and beauty gentle; Too strict a guardian for so fair a ward! O, that she were, as is the air, to me! Why, so she is, for when I would embrace her, This do I, and catch nothing but my self. I must enjoy her; for I cannot beat With reason and reproof fond love a way. [Enter Warwick.] Here comes her father: I will work with him, To bear my colours in this field of love. WARWICK. How is it that my sovereign is so sad? May I with pardon know your highness grief; And that my old endeavor will remove it, It shall not cumber long your majesty. KING EDWARD. A kind and voluntary gift thou proferest, That I was forward to have begged of thee. But, O thou world, great nurse of flattery, Why dost thou tip men's tongues with golden words, And peise their deeds with weight of heavy lead, That fair performance cannot follow promise? O, that a man might hold the heart's close book And choke the lavish tongue, when it doth utter The breath of falsehood not charactered there! WARWICK. Far be it from the honor of my age, That I should owe bright gold and render lead; Age is a cynic, not a flatterer. I say again, that if I knew your grief, And that by me it may be lessened, My proper harm should buy your highness good. KING EDWARD. These are the vulgar tenders of false men, That never pay the duty of their words. Thou wilt not stick to swear what thou hast said; But, when thou knowest my grief's condition, This rash disgorged vomit of thy word Thou wilt eat up again, and leave me helpless. WARWICK. By heaven, I will not, though your majesty Did bid me run upon your sword and die. KING EDWARD. Say that my grief is no way medicinable But by the loss and bruising of thine honour. WARWICK. If nothing but that loss may vantage you, I would accompt that loss my vantage too. KING EDWARD. Thinkst that thou canst unswear thy oath again? WARWICK. I cannot; nor I would not, if I could. KING EDWARD. But, if thou dost, what shall I say to thee? WARWICK. What may be said to any perjured villain, That breaks the sacred warrant of an oath. KING EDWARD. What wilt thou say to one that breaks an oath? WARWICK. That he hath broke his faith with God and man, And from them both stands excommunicate. KING EDWARD. What office were it, to suggest a man To break a lawful and religious vow? WARWICK. An office for the devil, not for man. KING EDWARD. That devil's office must thou do for me, Or break thy oath, or cancel all the bonds Of love and duty twixt thy self and me; And therefore, Warwick, if thou art thy self, The Lord and master of thy word and oath, Go to thy daughter; and in my behalf Command her, woo her, win her any ways, To be my mistress and my secret love. I will not stand to hear thee make reply: Thy oath break hers, or let thy sovereign die. [Exit.] WARWICK. O doting King! O detestable office! Well may I tempt my self to wrong my self, When he hath sworn me by the name of God To break a vow made by the name of God. What, if I swear by this right hand of mine To cut this right hand off? The better way Were to profane the Idol than confound it: But neither will I do; I'll keep mine oath, And to my daughter make a recantation Of all the virtue I have preacht to her: I'll say, she must forget her husband Salisbury, If she remember to embrace the king; I'll say, an oath may easily be broken, But not so easily pardoned, being broken; I'll say, it is true charity to love, But not true love to be so charitable; I'll say, his greatness may bear out the shame, But not his kingdom can buy out the sin; I'll say, it is my duty to persuade, But not her honesty to give consent. [Enter Countess.] See where she comes; was never father had Against his child an embassage so bad? COUNTESS. My Lord and father, I have sought for you: My mother and the Peers importune you To keep in presence of his majesty, And do your best to make his highness merry. WARWICK. [Aside.] How shall I enter in this graceless arrant? I must not call her child, for where's the father That will in such a suit seduce his child? Then, 'wife of Salisbury'; shall I so begin? No, he's my friend, and where is found the friend That will do friendship such indammagement? [To the Countess.] Neither my daughter nor my dear friend's wife, I am not Warwick, as thou thinkst I am, But an attorney from the Court of hell, That thus have housed my spirit in his form, To do a message to thee from the king. The mighty king of England dotes on thee: He that hath power to take away thy life, Hath power to take thy honor; then consent To pawn thine honor rather than thy life: Honor is often lost and got again, But life, once gone, hath no recovery. The Sun, that withers hay, doth nourish grass; The king, that would disdain thee, will advance thee. The Poets write that great Achilles' spear Could heal the wound it made: the moral is, What mighty men misdo, they can amend. The Lyon doth become his bloody jaws, And grace his forragement by being mild, When vassel fear lies trembling at his feet. The king will in his glory hide thy shame; And those that gaze on him to find out thee, Will lose their eye-sight, looking in the Sun. What can one drop of poison harm the Sea, Whose huge vastures can digest the ill And make it loose his operation? The king's great name will temper thy misdeeds, And give the bitter potion of reproach, A sugared, sweet and most delicious taste. Besides, it is no harm to do the thing Which without shame could not be left undone. Thus have I in his majesty's behalf Appareled sin in virtuous sentences, And dwell upon thy answer in his suit. COUNTESS. Unnatural besiege! woe me unhappy, To have escaped the danger of my foes, And to be ten
{'title': 'King Edward III by Shakespeare', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}