Edward II (1991) Script

“Me father is deceased.

Come, Gaveston.”

“My father is deceased.

Come, Gaveston... and share this kingdom with thy dearest friend.”

“My father is deceased.

Come, Gaveston, and share the kingdom with thy dearest friend.”

Words that make me surfeit with delight.

What greater bliss can hap to Gaveston than to live and be the favorite of a king?

Sweet prince, I come.

These... These thy amorous lines might have enforced me to have swum from France.

And like Leander, gasped upon the sand, so thou wouldst take me in thy arms.

The sight of London to my exiled eyes is as Elysium to a newcome soul.

Not that I love the people or the men... but that it harbors him I hold so dear.

Farewell base stooping to the lordy peers.

My knee shall bow to none but to the king.

As for the multitude that are but sparks raked up in embers of their poverty... fuck 'em.

What art thou?

A traveler.

I see.

Thou wouldst do well to wait at my table and tell me lies at dinnertime.

What art thou?

A sailor. A sailor.


There are hospitals for men like you.

I have no war.

And therefore, sir, begone.

These are not men for me.

I must have want on poets.

Pleasant wits.

Musicians that with the touching of a string may draw the pliant king which way I please.

Music and poetry are his delight.

Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night.

Sweet speeches, comedies.

Pleasing shows.

My lord.

Kiss not my hand.

Embrace me as I do thee. Why shouldst thou kneel?

Knowest thou not who I am?

Thy friend.

Thy self. Another Gaveston.

And since I went from hence...

no soul in hell... hath felt more torment than poor...


Is that wicked Gaveston returned?

Aye, priest.

And lives to be revenged on thee, the only cause of his exile.

Gaveston... unless thou be reclaimed, thou shalt back to France!

And but for reverence of these robes, thou shouldst not plod one foot beyond this place.

Ere my sweet Gaveston shall part from me, this isle shall fleet upon the ocean.

“Gaveston, unless thou be reclaimed, thou shalt back to France!”

Throw off his golden miter.

Rend his stole, and in the Channel christen him anew!

Brother, lay not violent hands on him.

For he'll complain unto the see of Rome.

Let him complain to the see of hell!

I'll be revenged on him for my exile!

Spare his life!

Seize upon his goods.

Be thou lord bishop and receive his rents. I give him thee.

Use him as thou wilt.

He shall to prison.

And there die in bolts.

Convey this fucking priest to the Tower.

Prison may beseem his holiness.

For this offense, be thou accursed of God.

I here create the lord high chamberlain... chief secretary to the state and me... earl of Cornwall...

king and lord of man.

My lord, these titles far exceed my worth.

Thy worth, sweet friend, is far above my gifts.

And therefore, to equal it, receive my heart.

If for these dignities thou be envied...

I'll give thee more.

Wantest thou gold?

Go to my treasury.

It shall suffice for me to enjoy your love.

Welcome home, my friend.


The least of these titles may well suffice for one of greater birth than Gaveston.


Are you moved that Gaveston sits here?

It is our pleasure. We will have it so.

My lord, these titles far exceed his worth.

Cease, Brother.

I cannot brook these words.

First were his sacred garments rent and torn.

Then laid they violent hands on him.

Next himself imprisoned.

His goods a'sseized.

'Tis true.

The bishop is in the Tower, and all his goods and booty given to Gaveston.

What? Will they tyrannize upon the church?

Oh, wicked king.

Accursed Gaveston.

We may not, nor we will not, suffer this.

Doth no man take exceptions at this slave?

All stomach him, but none dare speak a word.

Thus, arm in arm, the king and he doth march. Nay more.

The guard upon his lordship waits, and all the court begins to flatter him.

This ground, which is corrupted with their steps... shall be their timeless sepulchre, or mine.

We'll haul him from the bosom of the king.

And at the court gate hang the peasant up, who, swollen with the venom of ambitious pride, will be the ruin of the realm.

And us.

And us. And us.

His wanton humor grieves not me, but this I scorn: that one so basely born should by his sovereign's favor grow so pert.

And riot it with the treasures of the realm while soldiers mutiny for want of pay.

He wears a lord's revenue on his back, and Midas-like he jets it in the court.

With base outlandish cullions at his heels...

Oh! Whose proud, fantastic liveries make such show as if that Proteus, god of shapes, appeared.

While others walk below, the king and he, from out a window, laugh at such as we.

And flout our train and jest at our attire.

'Tis this that makes me impatient.

This Edward... is the ruin of the realm.

Thou villain!

Wherefore talk'st thou of a king that hardly art a gentleman by birth.

Were he a peasant, being my minion, I'd make the proudest of you stoop to him.

Were I a king.

Away, I say, with hateful Gaveston.

Here, Mortimer.

Wear you my crown. Sit thou on Edward's throne.

Was ever a king so overruled as I?

Go tell her.

Look, where the sister of the king of France sits wringing of her hands, beats her breast.

The king, I fear, hath ill-treated her.

Hard is the heart that injures such a saint.

That Mortimer. I'll be his death.

If you love us, my lord, hate Gaveston.


These earls, my lord, and I myself, were sworn to your father at his death that he should never return into the realm.

I will have Gaveston.

And you shall know what danger 'tis to stand against your king!

Well done, Ned.

My lord, why do you thus incense your peers that naturally would love and honor you?

Yet dare you brave the king unto his face?

Brother, avenge it, and let their heads preach upon poles for trespass of their tongues.

-Our heads?

Come. Let us leave the brainsick king.

Two kings in England cannot reign at once.

But stay a while.

Let me be king till night...

that I may gaze upon this glittering crown.

So shall my eyes receive their last content.

My head, the latest honor due to it.

And jointly both yield up their wished right.

Yet... Yet hardly can I brook... to lose my crown and kingdom without cause.



What the heavens appoint...

I must obey.



Take my crown.

Wherefore sits thou here?

If you mistrust us, I'll begone, my lord.

No, no.





For if thou means to murder me... thou must return again.

And therefore stay.


Whither goes Your Majesty so fast?

Unto the forest, gentle Mortimer, to live in grief and baleful discontent.

For now my lord the king regards me not but dotes upon the love of Gaveston.

He claps his cheeks and hangs about his neck, smiles in his face and whispers in his ears.

And when I come, he frowns as if to say, “Go whither thou wilt seeing I have my Gaveston.” Is it not queer that he is thus bewitched?

That sly, inveigling upstart we'll exile... or lose our lives.

You know the king is so suspicious that if he hear I have but talked with you, mine honor will be called in question.

Go! Come on. Push, push, push, push, push.

That's the way. Come on. Keep it going.

Come on. Force it out. Sit up, press forward, lie back.

The idle triumphs... masks... lascivious shows, and prodigal gifts bestowed on Gaveston... have drawn thy treasures dry and made thee weak.

Who loves thee but a sort of flatterers?


Is this the duty you owe your king?

We know our duty.

Let him know his peers.

Why should you love him whom the world hates so?

Because he loves me more than all the world.

Thou wrongst me, Gaveston.

Is it not enough that thou corruptst my lord and art a bawd to his affection, but thou must call mine honor thus in question?

Oh, I mean not so. Your Grace must pardon me.


'Tis thou that robst me of my lord.

No, madam.

'Tis you who rob me of my lord.

Fair blows the wind for France.

Blow gentle gale!

Here is the form of Gaveston's exile.

May it please you to subscribe your names?

Quick, quick, my lord. Give me the paper.

I long to write my name.

The name of Mortimer shall fright the king.

I long to have him banished hence.

Unless the king decline from that base peasant.

My lord. Will you take arms against the king?

What need I?

God himself is up in arms.

“In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.”

What man of noble birth can brook this sight.

See what a look of scorn the peasant casts.

Can kingly lions fawn on creeping ants?

Their downfall is at hand.

Lay hands on the traitor Gaveston!

Your Grace doth well to place him by your side, for nowhere else is the new earl so safe.

Subscribe as we have done to his exile.

Curse him if he refuse, and then may we depose him and elect another king.


Curse me.

Depose me.

Do the worst you can.

Come, come, subscribe.

None but rude and savage-minded men would seek the ruin of my Gaveston.

You that are nobly born should pity him.

You that are princely born should shake him off.

For shame subscribe and let Piers Gaveston depart Or I will presently discharge the lords of duty and allegiance due to thee.

Are you content to banish him the realm?

I see I must, and therefore am content.

Instead of ink...

I'll write it with my tears.

♪ Evfiy time I

♪ We say good-bye I Eldie.“

♪ >l' A little I My lord, I hear it whispered everywhere that I am banished.

♪ Evfiy time I Is it true?

♪ We say good-bye I

'Tis true, sweet Gaveston.

♪ I wonder why I Thou must from hence, or I will be deposed.

♪ >L' A little I Sweet friend, take it patiently.

My love will never decline.

Is all my hope turned to this hell of grief?

Rend not my heart with too piercing words.

Thou from this land I from myself am banished.

Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow.

Was ever a king so overruled as I?

♪ Togor

When y0u're near ♪ The time is little that thou has to stay.

And therefore... give me leave to look my fill.

'Tis something to be pitied of a king.

♪ A lark somewhere ♪

♪ Begin to sing I

♪ About it S

♪ >l' There's no love song finer I'

♪ But how strange the change I

♪ From major to minor I

♪ Evfiy time I

♪ We say I

♪ Good-bye I

♪ When you're near I

♪ >l' There's such an air of spring I

♪ About it S

♪ I can hear a lark somewhere ♪

♪ Begin to sing I

♪ About it S

♪ >l' There's no love song finer I'

♪ But how strange the change I

♪ From major to minor I

♪ Evfiy time I

♪ We say I

♪ Good-bye I

How fast they run to ban/sh him //0 ve.

They would not stir were it to do me good.

Why should a king be subject to a priest?

As for the peers that back the clergy thus... if I be king... not one of them shall live.

But why do you love him whom the world hates so?

He's gone...

and for his absence... thus I mourn.

Did never sorrow go so near my heart?

He's gone.

He's gone.




Fawn not on me, foul strumpet!

Get thee gone.

On whom but on my husband should I fawn?

On Mortimer?

Thou wrongst me. Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer!

And by thy means is Gaveston exiled!

But that I would wish thee reconcile the lords, or thou shall never be reconciled to me.

Your Highness knows it lies not in my power.

Away then.

Touch me not.

Heavens can witness...

I love none but him.

Would, when I left sweet France... and was embarked...

that charming Circe... walking on the waves... had changed my shape.

Or, at the marriage day...

the cup of Hymen...

had been full of poison.

Or with those arms that twined about my neck...

I had been stifled...

and not lived to see...

the king my lord... thus to abandon me.

I must entreat him.

I must speak him fair...

and be a means... to call home Gaveston.

And yet he'll ever dote on Gaveston.

And so am I...

forever miserable.

My heart is as an anvil unto sorrow...

which beats upon it like the Cyclops' hammers...

and with the noise turns up my giddy brain and then makes me frantic for my Gaveston.

Had some bloodless fury rose from hell... and with my kingly scepter struck me dead when I was forced to leave my Gaveston.

Madam, how fares Your Grace?

Ah, Mortimer.

Now breaks the king's hate forth, and he confesseth that he loves me not.

Ah, cry quittance, madam, then, and love not him.

Sweet Mortimer, I am enjoined to sue to you for his repeal.

This wills the king, and this I must perform, or else be banished from His Highness' presence.

Can this be true? 'Twas good to banish him?

And is this true, to call him home again?

Such reasons make white black and dark night day.

Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead?

I would he were.

My lords, that I abhor base Gaveston I hope Your Honors make no question.

And therefore, though I plead for his repeal, 'tis not for his sake but for our avail.

Nay for the realm's.

But were he here, detested as he is, how easily might some base slave be suborned to greet his lordship with a knife?

How chance that this was never done before?

Because, my lords, it was not thought upon.

My gracious lord?

My gracious lord, I come to bring you news.

That you have parleyed with your Mortimer?

Gaveston, my lord, shall be repealed.

The news is too sweet to be true.

But will you love me if you find it so?

If it be so, what will not Edward do?

For Gaveston... but not for Isabel.

For thee, fair queen.

If thou lovest Gaveston, I'll hang a golden tongue about thy neck... seeing thou hast pleaded with so good success.

No other jewels hang about my neck than these, my lord.

Nor let me have more wealth than I may fetch from this rich treasury.

Oh, how a kiss revives poor Isabel.

Once more receive my hand.

Let this be a second marriage twixt thyself and me.

And may it prove more happy than the first.

The wind is good.

I wonder why he stays.

I fear me he is wracked upon the sea.

My lord.

How now?

What news? ls Gaveston arrived?

Nowt but Gaveston.

What means, Your Grace?

They love me not that hate my Gaveston.

Let him without controlment have his will.

The mightiest kings have had their minions.

Great Alexander loved Hephaestion.

The conquering Hercules for Hylas wept.

And for Patroclus stern Achilles drooped.

And not kings only but the wisest men.

The Roman Tully loved Octavius.

Grave Socrates, wild Alcibiades.

Then let His Grace, whose youth is flexible and promiseth as much as we can wish... freely enjoy that vain, light-headed earl.

For riper years will wean him from such toys.

Thy absence made me droop and pine away.

But now thy sight is sweeter far than was thy parting hence bitter and irksome to my sobbing heart.

Sweet lord and king, your speech preventeth mine.

Yet have I words left to express my joy.

The shepherd, nipped with biting winter's rage, frolics no more to see the painted spring than I do to behold Your Majesty.

Who's this?

The queen?

Aye, Mortimer.

The miserable queen.

Whose pining heart and inward sighs have blasted.

And body with continual mourning wasted.

These hands are tired with haling of my lord from Gaveston.

From wicked Gaveston.

And all in vain.

For when I speak him fair, he turns away... and smiles upon his minion.

Will none of you salute my Gaveston?

Salute him?

Salute him?


Welcome to the lord high chamberlain.

Welcome is the good earl of Cornwall.

Welcome to the king and lord of man. And lord of man.

Brother, do you hear them?

Still these earls and barons use me thus?

My lord, I cannot brook these injuries.

Return it to their throats. I'll be thy warrant.

Base leaden earls.

The glory in your birth.

Go sit at home and eat your tenant's beef.

And come not here to scoff at Gaveston...

whose mounting thoughts did never creep so low... as to bestow a look on such as you.

Villain, your life!

Furious Mortimer, what hast thou done?

Dear, shall you aby this riotous deed! Out of my presence!

Come not near the court.

I'll not be barred the court for Gaveston. Look to your crown if you back him thus.

Mortimer, these words do ill beseem thy years.

Now all of them conspire to cross me thus.

But if I live, I'll tread upon their heads that think with high looks thus to tread me down.

My swelling heart for very anger breaks!

How often have I been baited by these peers and dare not be revenged, for their power is great.

Yet shall the crowing of these cockerels affright a lion?


Edward, unfold your paws and let their live's blood slake the fury's hunger...

if I be cruel and grow tyrannous!

Now let them thank themselves and rue too late.


The court is naked, being bereft of those that make a king seem glorious to the world.

Libels are cast against him in the street.

Ballads and rhymes made of his overthrow.

Poor Gaveston.

Has no friend but me.

Mortimer is grown so brave that to my face he threatens civil wars.

Why do you not commit him to the Tower?

Oh, I dare not, for the people love him well.

Would Mortimer and Isabella both caroused a bowl of poison to each others health.

Knowest thou him, Gaveston?

Aye, my lord.

His name is Spencer.

For my sake, let him wait upon your grace.

Spencer, sweet Spencer.

I adopt you here, and merely of our love, we do create thee earl and lord, despite of times, despite of enemies.

My lord, no greater title could happen unto me than to be favored by Your Majesty.

My lord, I see your love to Gaveston will be the ruin of the realm and you.

For now the wrathful nobles threaten wars.

And therefore, Brother... banish him forever.

Art thou an enemy to my Gaveston?


And it grieves me that I ever favored him.



Whine with Mortimer.

No marvel you scorn the noble peers when I, your brother, am rejected thus.

Of love to this our native land...

I come to join you... and leave the king.

I fear me you are sent of policy to undermine us with a show of love.

Mine honor shall be the hostage of my truth.

Never was Plantagenet false of his word.

Therefore trust we thee.

Gaveston frolics with the king.

Let us with our followers surprise them unawares.

None be so hardy as to touch the king.

But neither spare you Gaveston nor his friends.

Fly, my lord.

These earls have got the hold.

Stay, my lord.

They will not injure you.

I will not trust them, Gaveston!


Gallop apace, bright Phoebus, through the sky... and dusky night in rusty iron car... between you both, shorten the time, I pray, that I might see that most desired day when we may meet these traitors in the field.

How comes it that the king and Gaveston is parted?

That your army, going several ways, might be of lesser force.

This tattered ensign of my ancestors, which swept the desert shore of that dead sea whereof we got the name of Mortimer, I will advance and ring aloud the knell of Gaveston.

Pursue him quickly and he cannot escape.

The king hath left him and his train is small.

Yet, I hope my sorrows will have end.

And Gaveston this blessed day... be slain.

Yet, lusty lords, I have escaped your hands, your threats, your alarms, and your hot pursuits.

And though divorced from King Edward's eyes yet lieth Piers of Gaveston unsurprised... breathing in hope.

V/s/b/I/'U/ moderate to good.

From the wash to Dungeness, wind southeast.

Oh, Spencer, not the riches of my realm can ransom Gaveston.

He's marked to die.

I know the malice of Mortimer.

Thou proud disturber of thy country's peace, corrupter of thy king, cause of these broils.

Lord chamberlain.

Good lord of Cornwall.

Lord governor of man.

Monster of men... look for no other fortune, wretch, than death.

I thank you all, my lords.

Then I perceive that heading is one...

hanging is the other... and death is all.

Come, let thy shadow parley with King Edward.

Were I King Edward, England's sovereign, son to the lovely Eleanor of Spain, great Edward Longshanks's issue, would I bear these braves, this rage, and suffer uncontrolled these barons who beard me thus in my own land, in mine own realm?

My lord, pardon my speech.

Did you retain your father's magnanimity?

Did you regard the honor of your name you would not suffer thus, Your Majesty.

Be counterbuffed of your nobility.

Strike off their heads and let them preach upon poles.

No doubt such lessons they will teach the rest as by their preachments they will profit much and learn obedience to their lawful king.

Yea, gentle Spencer... we have been too mild, too kind to them.

But now we'll draw our swords.

Refer your vengeance upon these barons.

And let not unrevenged them murder your friends.

By earth, the common mother of us all... by heaven, and all the moving orbs thereof... by this right hand, and by my father's sword, and all the honors 'longing to my crown, I will have heads and lives for him as many as I have manors, castles, towns, and towers.

Traitorous Mortimer!

If I be England's king, in lakes of gore your headless trunk, your body will I trail.

That you may drink your fill and quaff in blood... you villains that have slain my Gaveston!

“The barons up in arms by me salute Your Highness with long life and happiness.

And bid me say, as plainer to Your Grace, that if, without effusion of blood, you will have ease and remedy.

That from your princely person you remove this Spencer as a putrefying branch that deads the royal vine, whose golden leaves empale your princely head.

Your diadem, whose brightness such pernicious upstarts dim, say they, and lovingly advise your grace to cherish virtue and nobility, and to have old senators in high esteem, and shake off smooth dissembling flatterers.” Traitors.

Will they still display their pride?

Rebels, will they appoint their king his sports, his friends, and his pleasures?

Yet, ere thou go, see how I do divorce Spencer from me.

March with me, my friends.

Edward this day hath crowned him king anew.

Saint George for England and King Edward's right!

Misgoverned kings are cause of all this wrack.

And Edward, thou art one among them all, whose looseness hath betrayed the land to spoil and made the channels overflow with blood of thine own people.

Stop the murders! Stop the lies! Queer love will never die!

Stop the murders! Stop the lies! Queer love will never die!

Stop the murders! Stop the lies! Queer love will never die!

And for the open wrongs and injuries Edward hath done to us, his queen and land, we come again in arms to wreck it all with swords.

That England's queen in peace may repossess her dignities and honors from the king that havocs England's wealth.

Vailed is your pride.

Me thinks you hang your head.

But we'll advance it, traitor.

Now it is time to be avenged on you for all your braves and for the murder of our dearest friend... to whom right well you knew our soul was knit.

Piers of Gaveston.

My sweet favorite.



You made him away. Accursed wretch.

Thou watched the prisoner... poor Piers... slain.

Tyrant, I scorn thy threats and menaces.

'Tis but temporal that thou canst inflict.

The worst is death, and better die to live than live in infamy under such a king.

A brother?

No, a butcher of thy friends!

Proud Edward, dost thou banish me thy presence?

But I'll cheer the wronged queen and certify what Edward's looseness is.

Unnatural king... to slaughter noble men and cherish flatterers.

Ah, boy...

thou art deceived at least in this... to think that we can yet be tuned together.

No, no.

We jar too far.

Vile wretch.

And why hast thou, of all unkind... borne arms against thy brother and thy king?

I like not this relenting mood.

I rue my lord's ill fortune.

But, alas... care of my country called me to this war.

I think King Edward will outrun us all.


This life contemplative is heaven.

Oh, that I might this life in quiet lead.

On thy lap lay I this head laden with mickle care.

Oh, might I never open these eyes again.

Never again lift up this drooping head.

Never more lift up this dying heart.

Look up, my lord, this drowsiness betides no good.

Here is a litter ready for Your Grace.

Waits your pleasure and the day grows old.

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 Edward none...

but him.

And he...

he must die under a tyrant's sword.

O day... the last of all my bliss on earth.

Successful battles gives the god of kings to them that fight in right and fear his wrath.

Since then, successfully, we have prevailed... thanks be to heaven's great architect...

and you.

Madam, without offense, if I may ask, how will you deal with Edward in his fall?

Tell me, what Edward do you mean?

Your father.

I will not call him king.

Is noble Edward gone?

Parted from hence?

Parted from thee?

My Soul!


Continue ever, thou celestial sun.

Let never silent night possess this clime.

Stand still, you watches of the element.

All times and seasons, rest you at a stay... that Edward may be still fair England's king.

So well hast thou deserved, sweet Mortimer.

As Isabel could live with thee forever.

Be thou persuaded that I love thee well.

Fair Isabel, now we have our desire.

The proud corrupters of the light-brained king have paid their homage to the lofty gallows.

Edward himself lies in captivity.

And we will rule the realm.

It's not the first time I've killed a man.

I learned in Naples how to poison flowers.

To strangle with a lawn thrust through the throat.

To pierce the windpipe with a needle's point.

Or whilst one's asleep, to take a quill and blow a little powder in his lungs, or open his gob and pour quicksilver down.

But yet I have a braver way than these.

I, I, and none shall know which way he died.

I care not how it is, so it be not spied.

Commend me humbly to His Majesty...

and tell him... that I labor all in vain to ease his grief... and work his liberty.

And bear him this as witness of my love.

He shall be murdered when the deed is done.

My daily diet is heartbreaking sobs... that almost rents the closet of my heart.

The queen sent us to see how you're used.

For she relents at this... your misery.

Tell Isabel, whose eyes have turned to steel, who will sooner sparkle fire than shed a tear... this dungeon where they keep me is the sink wherein the filth of all the castle falls.

And there, in mire and puddle, have I stood these ten days space.

And lest that I should sleep... one plays continually upon a drum.

They give me bread and water... being a king.

So that for want of sleep and sustenance my mind's distempered... and my body's numbed.

And whether I have limbs or no, I know not.

Would my blood dropped out of my every vein... as doth this water from these tattered robes.

No more, my lord. This breaks my very heart.

Lay down and rest.

If gentle words might comfort me... thy speeches long ago had eased my sorrows.

For kind and loving thou hast always been.

Be patient.

Cease to lament.

Imagine this dark prison were your court.

This is London.

The king's life is moving...

Let him be king. I am too young to reign.

Be content, seeing it is your father's pleasure.

Let me see the king first, then I will.

Aye, do, sweet nephew.

Brother, you know it is impossible.

Why? Is he dead?

No, God forbid.

I would these words proceeded from thy heart.

My lord, he hath betrayed the king, his brother, and therefore trust him not.

Come, Son, and go with this gentle lord and me.

With you I will, but not with Mortimer!

Why, youngling, then I will carry thee by force away.

Help, Uncle Kent! Mortimer will wrong me!

Oh, miserable is that commonweal where lords keep courts and kings are locked in prison.

Did you attempt his rescue?

He is our king.

He's my uncle!

He is your enemy.

Are thou king?

Must I die at thy command?

Either my brother or his son is king.

And none of both them thirst for my blood.

What safety may I look for?

Fear not, sweet boy.

Had your uncle lived... he would have sought thy life.

He is a traitor.

Think not on him. Come.

I seal, I cancel.

I do what I will.

Feared am I more than loved.

Let me be feared.

And when I frown, make all the court look pale.

I am protector now.

Now all is sure.

The queen and Mortimer shall rule the realm and none rule us.

Mine enemies will I plague, my friends advance, and what I list, command.

Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabel.

Be thou persuaded that I love thee well.

Something still buzzeth in my ears... and tells me if I sleep...

I never wake.

I know thou comes to murder me.

What means Your Highness to mistrust us?

Oh, pardon me. Grief makes me lunatic.

Know that I am a king!

At that name, I feel a hell of grief.

Where is my crown?



And do I remain alive?

These hands were never stained with innocent blood.

Nor shall they now be tainted with a king's.


I know the next news you'll bring will be my death.

And welcome shall it be.

To wretched men, death is felicity.

All places are alike.

And every earth is fit for burial.

These looks of thine can harbor naught but death.

I see my tragedy written on thy brow.

Yet stay a while.

For bear thy bloody hand and let me see the stroke before it comes.

Base fortune.

Now I see that, in thy wheel, there is a point to which, when men aspire... they tumble headlong down.

That point I touched.

And seeing there was no place to mount up higher... why should I grieve at my declining fall?

But what are kings when regiment is gone but perfect shadows in a sunshine day?

I know not.

But of this I am assured... that death ends all... and I can die but once.

Come death... and with thy fingers close my eyes.

Or if I live... let me forget myself.