mand the
same affection in a political as in a voluntary union. Apparently she
really loves the king until his continued coldness chills her feelings
and drives them to seek return in the more responsive heart of Mortimer.
After that she even sinks so low as to wish the king dead. Yet to the
end she cherishes a warm love for her son. Probably the author intended
that her degeneracy should be attributed to the baneful influence of
Mortimer and so strengthen the need for his death.

Mortimer, as the great antagonist, has a very strong character.
Imperious, fiery, he is the real leader of the barons. From the first it
is apparent that he is actuated by personal malice as much as by
righteous indignation on behalf of his misgoverned country. He confides
to his uncle that it is Gaveston's and the king's mocking jests at the
plainness of his train and attire which make him impatient. But the
unwisdom of the king serves him for a stalking-horse while secretly he
pursues the goal of his private ambition. In adversity he is uncrushed.
When he returns victorious he ruthlessly sweeps aside all likely
obstacles to his supremacy, the Spensers, Kent, and even the king being
hurried to their death. Then, just as he thinks to stand at the summit,
he falls--and falls grandly.

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?--
Farewell, fair queen: weep not for Mortimer,
That scorns the world, and, as a traveller,
Goes to discover countries yet unknown.

Marlowe wisely--for him--departs from the growing custom of diversifying
the hard facts of history with homely fiction of a more or less comic
nature. He declines to mingle clowns and courtiers. Variety is secured
by a slightly fuller delineation of the secondary characters than is
usual with him, with its consequent effect on the dialogue, and by
abrupt changes in the political situation. Two great scenes, King
Edward's abdication and his death, remain as memories with us long after
we have laid the book down; but while we are reading it there are many
others that touch the chords of indignation and sorrow. The verse
throughout is admirable: it has shaken itself free of rant and
extravagance; no longer are adjectives and nouns of splendour heaped
recklessly one upon another.