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.]

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.]