# Edward II/Act I

Enter Gavestone reading on a Letter that was brought him from the King.
My Father is deceast, come Gavestone, And share the Kingdome with thy deerest friend. Ah words that make me surfet with delight, What greater blisse can hap to Gaveston, Then live and be the Favorite of a King? Sweete Prince I come: These these, thy amorous lines Might have enforst me to have swum from France, And like Leander gaspt upon the sand, So thou wouldst smile and take me in thine armes. The sight of London to my exil'd eyes, Is as Elizium to a new come soule, Not that I love the City or the men, But that it harbors him I hold so deere, The King, upon whose bosome let me dye, And with the world be still at enmity: What need the Articke people love star-light, To whom the sunne shines both by day and night. Farewell base stooping to the Lordly Peeres, My knees shall bow to none but to the King, As for the multitude that are but sparkes Rakt up in embers, of their poverty, Tanti: Ile fanne first on the winde, That glaunceth at my lips and flyeth away: But how now, what are these?
Enter three poore men.
Such as desire your worships service.
Gavest. What canst thou doe?
1. Poore. I can ride.
Gavest. But I have no horse. What art thou?
2. Poore. A Traveller.
Gavest. Let me see, thou wouldst doe well To waite at my Trencher, and tell me lies at dinner time,
And as I like your discoursing, ile have you. And what art thou?
3. Poore.
A Souldier that hath served against the Scot.
Gave.
Why, there are Hospitals for such as you, I have no warre, and therefore Sir be gone.
Soul.
Farewell, and perish by a Souldiers hand, That would'st reward them with an Hospitall.
Gav.
I, I, these words of his move me as much As if a Goose should play the Porcupine And dart her Plumes, thinking to pierce my brest, But yet it is no paine to speake men faire, Ile flatter these, and make them live in hope: You know that I came lately out of France, And yet I have not veiwd my Lord the King: If I speede well, ile entertaine you all.
Omnes.
We thanke your worship.
Gav.
I have some businesse, leave me to my selfe.
Omnes.
We will waite here about the Court. Exeunt.
Gav.
Do: these are not men for me, I must have wanton Poets, Pleasant wits, Musitians that with touching of a string May draw the pliant King which way I please: Musicke and Poetry is his delight, Therefore ile have Italian Maskes by night, Sweete speeches, Comedies, and pleasing showes, And in the day when he shall walke abroad, Like Silvian Nimphs my Pages shall be clad, My men like Satyres grazing on the Lawnes Shall with their Goate-feete dance an Anticke Hay, Sometime a lovely Boy in Dians shape, With haire that gilds the Water as it glides, Crownets of Pearle about his naked armes, And in his sportfull hands an Olive tree, To hide those parts which men delight to see, Shall bath him in a Spring, and there hard by, One like Actæon peeping through the Grove, Shall by the angry Goddesse be transformd, And running in the likenesse of an Hart,
By yelping hounds puld downe, and seeme to dye, Such things as these best please his Majesty, My Lord, here comes the King and the Nobles From the Parlament, ile stand aside.
Enter the King, Lancaster, Mortimer senior, Mortimer junior, Edmond Earle of Kent, Guy Earle of Warwicke, &c.
Lancaster.
Lan.
My Lord.
Gave.
That Earle of Lancaster doe I abhorre.
Ed.
Will you not grant me this? in spite of them Ile have my will, and these two Mortimers That crosse me thus, shall know I am displeas'd.
Mor. se. If you love us my Lord, hate Gavestone.
Gave.
That Villaine Mortimer, ile be his death.
Mor. ju. Mine Uncle here, this Earle, and I my selfe Were sworne to your father at his death, That he should nere returne into the Realme: And know my Lord, ere I will breake my oath, This sword of mine that should offend your foes, Shall sleepe within the scaberd at thy neede, And underneath thy Banners march who will, For Mortimer will hang his Armor up.
Gavest.
Mort. dieu.
Ed.
Well Mortimer, ile make thee rue these words. Beseemes it thee to contradict thy King? Frounst thou thereat aspiring Lancaster, The Sword shall plaine the forrowes of thy browes, And hew these knees that now are growne so stiffe, I will have Gaveston, and you shall know, What danger tis to stand against your King.
Gaveston.
Well done, Ned.
Lan.
My Lord, why do you thus incense your Peeres, That naturally would love and honour you: But for that base and obscure Gaveston, Foure Earledomes have I besides Lancaster, Darby, Salisbury, Lincolne, Leicester, These will I sell to give my Souldiers pay, Ere Gaveston shall stay within the realme,
Therefore if he be come, expell him straight.
Ed. Barons and Earles, your pride hath made me mute, But now Ile speake, and to the proofe I hope: I doe remember in my fathers dayes, Lord Piercy of the North being highly mov'd, Brav'd Moubray in presence of the King, For which had not his highnesse lov'd him well, He should have lost his head, but with his looke, The undaunted spirit of Piercie was appeas'd, And Moubray and he were reconcilde: Yet dare you brave the King unto his face. Brother revenge it, and let these their heads, Preach upon poles for trespasse of their tongues.
War. O our heads.
Edw. I yours, and therefore I would wish you grant.
War. Bridle thy anger gentle Mortimer.
Mor. ju. I cannot, nor I will not, I must speake, Cosin, our hands I hope shall fence our heads, And strike off his that makes you threaten us: Come uncle let us leave the brainsicke King, And henceforth parly with our naked swords.
Mor. se. Wiltshire hath men enough to save our heads.
War. All Warwickshire will love him for my sake.
Lanc. And Northward Gavestone hath many friends. Adew my Lord, and either change your minde, Or looke to see the Throne where you should sit To floate in bloud, and at thy wanton head, The glosing head of thy base minion throwne.
Exeunt Nobles.
I cannot brooke these hautie menaces: Am I a King, and must be over-rul'd? Brother display my Ensignes in the field, Ile bandy with the Barons and the Earles, And either dye or live with Gaveston.
Gave. I can no longer keepe me from my Lord.
Edw. What Gavestone, welcome, kisse not my hand, Embrace me Gavestone as I do thee: Why shouldst thou kneele,
Know'st thou not who I am? Thy friend, thy selfe, another Gaveston, Not Hilas was more mourned for of Hercules, Then thou hast beene of me since thy exile.
Gave. And since I went from hence, no soule in hell Hath felt more torment then poore Gaveston.
Ed. I know it, Brother welcome home my friend, Now let the trecherous Mortimers conspire, And that high minded Earle of Lancaster, I have my wish in that I joy thy sight, And sooner shall the Sea orewhelme my Land, Then beare the Ship that shall transport thee hence: I heere create thee Lord high Chamberlaine, Chiefe Secretary to the State and me, Earle of Cornwall, King and Lord of man.
Gave. My Lord these Titles farre exceede my worth.
Kent. Brother the least of these may well suffice For one of greater birth then Gaveston.
Edw. Cease brother, For I cannot brooke these words: Thy worth sweet friend is farre above my gifts, Therefore to equall it, receive my heart, If for these dignities thou be envied, Ile give thee more, for but to honour thee, Is Edward pleas'd with Kingly regiment, Fearst thou thy person? thou shalt have a guard: Wants thou Gold? go to my Treasury. Wouldst thou be lov'd and fear'd? receive my seale, Save or condemne, and in our name command, What so thy minde affects or fancy likes.
Gave. It shall suffice me to enjoy your love, Which whiles I have, I thinke my selfe as great, As Cæsar riding in the Romane streete, With Captive Kings at his tryumphant Carre.
Enter the Bishop of Coventry.
Whither goes my Lord of Coventry so fast?
Bish. To celebrate your fathers exequies, But is that wicked Gavestone returnd?
Edw. I priest, and lives to be reveng'd on thee,
That wert the only cause of his exile.
Gave. Tis true, and but for reverence of these robes, Thou shouldst not plod one foote beyond this place.
Bish. I did no more then I was bound to do, And Gaveston unlesse thou be reclaimd, As then I did incense the Parlament, So will I now, and thou shalt back to France.
Gave. Saving your reverence, you must pardon me.
Ed. Throw off his golden Miter, rend his stole, And in the channell christen him anew.
Kent. Ah brother, lay not violent hands on him, For heele complaine unto the Sea of Rome.
Gave. Let him complaine unto the sea of hell, Ile be reveng'd on him for my exile.
Edw. No, spare his life, but seize upon his goods, Be thou Lord Bishop, and receive his rents, And make him serve thee as thy Chaplaine, I give him thee, heere use him as thou wilt.
Gave. He shall to prison, and there dye in bolts.
Edw. I to the Tower, the Fleete, or where thou wilt.
Bish. For this offence be thou accurst of God.
Edw. Whose there? Convey this Priest to the Tower.
Bish. True, true.
Edw. But in the meane time Gaveston away, And take possession of his house and goods: Come follow me, and thou shalt have my Guard To see it done, and bring thee safe againe.
Gave. What should a Priest do with so faire a house, A prison may best beseeme his holinesse.
Enter both the Mortimers, Warwicke and Lancaster.
Tis true, the Bishop is in the Tower, And goods and body given to Gaveston.
Lan. What? will they tyrannize upon the Church? Ah wicked King, accursed Gaveston, This ground which is corrupted with their steps, Shall be their timelesse sepulcher, or mine.
Mor. ju. Well, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure,
Unlesse his brest be sword proofe he shall dye.
Mor.se. How now, why droopes the Earle of Lancaster?
Mor.ju. Wherefore is Guy of Warwick discontent?
Lan. That Villaine Gaveston is made an Earle.
Mor.se. An Earle!
War. I, and besides Lord Chamberlaine of the realme, And Secretary to, and Lord of Man.
Mor.se. We may not nor we will not suffer this,
Mor.ju. Why post we not from hence to levie men?
Lan. My Lord of Cornewall now at every word, And happy is the man, whom he vouchsafes For vailing of his bonnet one good looke, Thus arme in arme, the King and he doth march: Nay more, the Guard upon his Lordship waites: And all the Court begins to flatter him.
War. Thus leaning on the shoulder of the King, He nods, and scornes, and smiles at those that passe.
Mor.se. Doth no man take exceptions at the slave?
Lan. All stomack him, but none dare speake a word.
Mor.ju. Ah that bewrayes their basenesse Lancaster, Were all the Earles and Barons of my mind, Weele hale him from the bosome of the King, And at the Court gate hang the Pesant up, Who swolne with venome of ambitious pride, Will be the ruine of the realme and us.
Enter the Bishop of Canterbury.
Heere comes my Lord of Canterburies Grace.
Lan. His countenance bewrayes he is displeas'd.
Bish. First were his sacred garments rent and torne, Then laid they violent hands upon him next, Himselfe imprisoned, and his goods asceas'd, This certifie the Pope, away take horse.
Lan. My Lord, will you take armes against the King?
Bish. What neede I, God himselfe is up in armes, When violence is offered to the Church.
Mor.ju. Then will you joyne with us that be his Peeres To banish or behead that Gaveston?
Bish. What else my Lords, for it concernes me neere,
The Bishopricke of Coventry is his.
Enter the Queene.
Madame, whither walks your majesty so fast?
Que. Unto the Forrest gentle Mortimer, To live in griefe and balefull discontent, For now my Lord the King regards me not, But dotes upon the love of Gaveston, He claps his cheekes and hanges about his necke, Smiles in his face, and whispers in his eares, And when I come, he frownes, as who should say, Go whither thou wilt seeing I have Gaveston.
Mor.se. Is it not strange that he is thus bewitcht?
Mor.ju. Madame, returne unto the Court againe: That slye inveigling Frenchman weele exile, Or lose our lives: and yet ere that day come, The King shall lose his crowne, for we have power, And courage too to be revengde at full.
Bish. But yet lift not your swords against the King.
Lan. No, but weele lift Gaveston from hence.
War. And warre must be the meanes, or hele stay still.
Que. Then let him stay, for rather then my Lord Shall be opprest with civill mutinies, I will endure a melancholly life, And let him frollicke with his Minion.
Bish. My Lords, to ease all this, but heare me speake, We and the rest that are his Counsellors Will meete, and with a generall consent, Confirme his banishment with our hands and seales.
Lan. What we confirme the King will frustrate.
Mor.ju. Then may we lawfully revolt from him.
War. But say my Lord, where shall this meeting be?
Bish. At the new Temple.
Mor.ju. Content: And in the meane time ile intreat you all, To crosse to Lambeth, and there stay with me.
Lan. Come then lets away.
Mor.ju. Madame farewell.
Que. Farewell sweete Mortimer, and for my sake,
Forbeare to levie Armes against the King.
Mor.ju. I, if words will serve, if not, I must.
Enter Gaveston and the Earle of Kent.
Edmond the mighty Prince of Lancaster, That hath more Earldomes then an Asse can beare, And both the Mortimers two goodly men, With Guy of Warwicke that redoubted Knight, Are gone towards Lambeth, there let them remaine. Exeunt.
Enter Nobles.
Heere is the forme of Gavestons exile: May it please your Lordship to subscribe your name.
Bish. Give me the Paper.
Lan. Quicke quicke my Lord: I long to write my name.
War. But I long more to see him banisht hence.
Mor.ju. The name of Mortimer shall fright the King, Unlesse he be declind from that base Pesant.
Enter the King and Gaveston.
What? are you mov'd that Gaveston sits heere? It is our pleasure, we will have it so.
Lan. Your Grace doth well to place him by your side, For no where else the new Earle is so safe.
Mor.se. What man of noble birth can brook this sight? Quam male conveniunt: See what a scornefull looke the Pesant casts.
Penb. Can Kingly Lyons fawne on creeping Ants?
War. Ignoble Vassall that like Phæton, Aspir'st unto the guidance of the Sunne.
Mor.ju. Their downfall is at hand, their forces down, We will not thus be fac'd and over-peer'd.
Edw. Lay hands on that Traytor Mortimer.
Mor.se. Lay hands on that Traytor Gaveston.
Kent. Is this the duty that you owe your King?
War. We know our duties, let him know his Peeres.
Edw. Whither will you beare him, stay or yee shall die,
Mor.se. We are no traytors, therefore threaten not.
Gav. No, threaten not my Lord, but pay them home, Were I a King———
Mor.ju. Thou Villaine, wherfore talkes thou of a king, That hardly art a Gentleman by birth?
Edw. Were he a Peasant being my Minion, Ile make the proudest of you stoope to him.
Lan. My Lord you may not thus disparage us. Away I say with hatefull Gavestone.
Mor.se. And with the Earle of Kent that favors him.
Edw. Nay then lay violent hands upon your King, Here Mortimer, sit thou in Edwards throne, Warwicke and Lancaster, weare you my Crowne, Was ever King thus over-rul'd as I?
Lan. Learne then to rule us better and the realme.
Mor.ju. What we have done,
Our heart blood shall maintaine.
War. Think you that we can brooke this upstart pride?
Edw. Anger and wrathfull fury stops my speech.
Bish. Why are you mov'd, be patient my Lord, And see what we your Councellors have done.
Mor.ju. My Lords, now let us all be resolute, And either have our wils or lose our lives.
Edw. Meete you for this, proud over-daring Peeres. Ere my sweete Gaveston shall part from me, This Ile shall fleete upon the Ocean, And wander to the unfrequented Inde.
Bish. You know that I am Legate to the Pope, On your allegeance to the Sea of Rome, Subscribe as we have done to his exile:
Mor.ju. Curse him, if he refuse, and then may we Depose him and elect another King.
Edw. I there it goes, but yet I will not yeeld, Curse me, depose me, do the worst you can.
Lan. Then linger not my Lord but do it straight.
Bish. Remember how the Bishop was abus'd, Either banish him that was the cause thereof, Or I will presently discharge these Lords, Of duety and alleageance due to thee,
Edw. It bootes me not to threat, I must speake faire, The Legate of the Pope will be obeyd:
My Lord, you shall be Chancelour of the Realme. Thou Lancaster, high Admirall of our Fleete, Yong Mortimer and his Unkle shall be Earles, And you Lord Warwicke, President of the North, And thou of Wales, if this content you not, Make severall Kingdomes of this Monarchy, And share it equally amongst you all, So I may have some nooke or corner left, To frolike with my deerest Gaveston.
Bish. Nothing shall alter us, we are resolv'd.
Lan. Come, come, subscribe.
Mor.ju. Why should you love him,
Whom the world hates so?
Edw. Because he loves me more then all the world: Ah none but rude and savage minded men, Would seeke the ruine of my Gaveston, You that are noble borne should pitty him.
War. You that are princely borne should shake him off. For shame subscribe, and let the Lowne depart.
Mor.se. Urge him my Lord.
Bish. Are you content to banish him the Realme?
Edw. I see I must, and therefore am content, In stead of Inke ile write it with my teares.
Mor.ju. The King is love-sicke for his Minion.
Edw. Tis done, and now accursed hand fall off.
Lan. Give it me, Ile have it published in the streetes,
Mor.ju. Ile see him presently dispatched away.
Bish. Now is my heart at ease.
War. And so is mine.
Penb. This will be good newes to the common sort.
Mor.se. Be it or no, he shall not linger heere. Exeunt Nobles.
Edw. How fast they run to banish him I love, They would not stirre, were it to do me good: Why should a King be subject to a Priest? Proud Rome, that hatchest such imperiall groomes, For these thy superstitious taper-lights, Wherewith thy Antichristian Churches blaze,
Ile fire thy crazed buildings, and enforce The Papall Towers, to kisse the lowly ground, With slaughtered Priests may Tybers channell swell, And bankes raisd higher with their sepulchers, As for the Peeres that back the clergy thus, If I be King, not one of them shall live.
Enter Gaveston.
My Lord, I heare it whispered every where That I am banish'd, and must flie the Land.
Ed. Tis true sweet Gaveston, oh were it were it false, The Legate of the Pope will have it so. And thou must hence, or I shall be depos'd, But I will raigne to be reveng'd of them, And therefore sweet friend, take it patiently. Live where thou wilt, ile send thee gold enough, And long thou shalt not stay, or if thou dost, Ile come to thee, my love shall nere decline.
Gave. Is all my hope turn'd to this hell of griefe.
Edw. Rend not my heart with thy too piercing words, Thou from this Land, I from my selfe am banisht.
Gave. To go from hence, grieves not poore Gaveston, But to forsake you, in whose gracious lookes, The blessednesse of Gaveston remaines, For no where else seekes he felicity.
Ed. And only this torments my wretched soule, That whether I will or no thou must depart: Be Governour of Ireland in my stead, And there abide till fortune call thee home. Here take my Picture, and let me weare thine, O might I keepe thee heere, as I do this, Happy were I, but now most miserable.
Gave. Tis something to be pittied of a King.
Edw. Thou shalt not hence, ile hide thee Gaveston.
Gave. I shall be found, and then twill grieve me more.
Edw. Kind words and mutuall talke makes our griefe greater. Therefore with dumbe imbracement let us part, Stay Gaveston, I cannot leave thee thus.
Gave. For every looke my Lord drops downe a teare, Seeing I must goe, do not renew my sorrow.
Edw. The time is little that thou hast to stay, And therefore give me leave to looke my fill, But come sweete friend, ile beare thee on thy way.
Gave. The Peeres will frowne.
Edw. I passe not for their anger, come lets goe, O that we might as well returne as goe.
Enter Edmond and Queen Isabell.
Whither goes my Lord?
Edw. Fawne not on me french strumpet, get thee gone,
Qu. On whom but on my husband should I fawne?
Gave. On Mortimer, with whom ungentle Queene, I say no more, judge you the rest my Lord,
Qu. In saying this thou wrongst me Gaveston, Ist not enough that thou corrupts my Lord, And art a Bawd to his affections, But thou must call mine honour thus in question?
Gave. I meane not so, your Grace must pardon me.
Edw. Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer, And by thy meanes is Gaveston exil'd. But I would wish thee reconcile the Lords, Or thou shalt ne're be reconcil'd to me.
Qu. Your Highnesse knowes it lies not in my power.
Edw. Away then, touch me not, come Gaveston.
Qu. Villaine, tis thou that rob'st me of my Lord.
Gav. Madam, tis you that rob me of my Lord.
Edw. Speake not unto her, let her droope and pine.
Qu. Wherein my Lord, have I deserv'd these words? Witnesse the teares that Isabella sheds, Witnesse this heart, that sighing for thee breakes, How deere my Lord is to poore Isabell.
Edw. And witnesse Heaven how deere thou art to me. There weepe: for till my Gaveston be repeal'd, Assure thy selfe thou comst not in my sight.
Exeunt Edward and Gaveston.
O miserable and distressed Queene, Would when I left sweete France and was imbark't,
That charming Circes walking on the waves, Had chang'd my shape, or that the marriage day, The cup of Hymen had beene full of poyson, Or with those armes that twin'd about my necke, I had beene stifled, and not liv'd to see, The King my Lord thus to abandon me: Like frantike Juno will I fill the earth, With gastly murmure of my sighs and cries, For never doted Jove on Ganimed, So much as he on cursed Gaveston, But that will more exasperate his wrath, I must entreat him, I must speake him faire, And be a meanes to call home Gaveston: And yet heele ever dote on Gaveston, And so am I for ever miserable.
Enter the Nobles to the Queene.
Looke where the sister of the King of France, Sits wringing of her hands and beats her brest.
War. The King I feare hath ill intreated her.
Pen. Hard is the heart that injures such a saint.
Mor.ju. I know tis long of Gaveston she weepes.
Mor.se. Why? he is gone.
Mor.ju. Madame, how fares your Grace?
Qu. Ah Mortimer! now breakes the Kings hate forth. And he confesseth that he loves me not.
Mor.ju. Cry quittance Madame then, & love not him.
Qu. No rather will I dye a thousand deaths, And yet I love in vaine, heele nere love me.
Lan. Feare ye not Madame, now his minions gone, His wanton humour will be quickly left.
Qu. O never Lancaster! I am injoyn'd, To sue unto you all for his repeale: This wils my Lord, and this must I performe, Or else be banisht from his Highnesse presence.
Lanc. For his repeale, Madame, he comes not backe, Unlesse the sea cast up his ship-wrack't body.
War. And to behold so sweete a sight as that, Ther's none here, but would runne his horse to death.
Mor.ju. But Madame, would you have us call him home?
Qu. I Mortimer, for till he be restor'd, The angry King hath banisht me the Court, And therefore as thou lov'st and tendrest me, Be thou my Advocate unto these Peeres.
Mor.ju. What would you have me plead for Gaveston?
Mor.se. Plead for him that will, I am resolv'd.
Lanc. And so am I my Lord, disswade the Queene.
Que. O Lancaster, let him disswade the King, For tis against my will he should returne.
War. Then speake not for him, let the Pesant goe.
Qu. Tis for my selfe I speake, and not for him.
Pen. No speaking will prevaile, and therefore cease.
Mor.ju. Faire Queene, forbeare to angle for the fish, Which being caught, strikes him that takes it dead, I meane that vile Torpedo, Gaveston, That now I hope flotes on the Irish seas,
Qu. Sweete Mortimer sit downe by me awhile, And I will tell thee reasons of such waight, As thou wilt soone subscribe to his repeale.
Mor.ju. It is impossible, but speake your mind.
Que. Then thus, but none shall heare it but our selves.
Lan. My Lords albeit the Queen winne Mortimer, Will you be resolute and hold with me?
Mor.se. Not I against my Nephew.
Pen. Feare not, the Queenes words cannot alter him.
War. No, do but marke how earnestly she pleads.
Lan. And see how coldly his lookes make deniall.
War. She smiles, now for my life his mind is chang'd.
Lan. Ile rather lose his friendship I, then grant.
Mor.ju. Well of necessity it must be so, My Lords that I abhorre base Gaveston, I hope your honours make no question, And therefore though I plead for his repeale, Tis not for his sake but for our availe: Nay for the realmes behoofe and for the Kings.
Lan. Fie Mortimer, dishonour not thy selfe, Can this be true, twas good to banish him?
And is this true, to call him home againe? Such reasons make white black, and darke night day.
Mor.ju. My Lord of Lancaster marke the respect.
Lan. In no respect can contraries be true.
Qu. Yet good my Lord heare what he can alledge.
War. All that he speakes is nothing, we are resolv'd.
Mor.ju. Doe you not wish that Gaveston were dead?
Penb. I would he were.
Mor.ju. Why then my Lord, give mee but leave to speake.
Mor.se. But Nephew do not play the Sophister.
Mor.ju. This which I urge is of a burning zeale To mend the King, and do our Country good: Know you not Gaveston hath store of Gold, Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends, As he will front the mightiest of us all, And whereas he shall live and be belov'd, Tis hard for us to worke his overthrow.
War. Marke you but that my Lord of Lancaster.
Mor.ju. But were he here detested as he is, How easily might some base slave be subornd, To greete his Lordship with a Poniard, And none so much as blame the murther, But rather praise him for that brave attempt. And in the Chronicle, enrowle his name, For purging of the Realme of such a plague.
Penb. He saith true.
Lan. I, but how chance this was not done before?
Mor.ju. Because my Lords, it was not thought upon: Nay more, when he shall know it lies in us, To banish him, and then to call him home, Twill make him vaile the top-flag of his pride, And feare to offend the meanest noble man.
Mor.se. But how if he do not Nephew?
Mor.ju. Then may we with some colour rise in armes, For howsoever we have borne it out, Tis treason to be up against the King, So shall we have the people on our side, Which for his fathers sake leane to the King,
But cannot brooke a night growne Mushrump, Such a one as my Lord of Cornewall is, Should beare us downe of the nobility, And when the Commons and the Nobles joyne, Tis not the King can buckler Gaveston. Weele pull him from the strongest hold he hath, My Lords, if to performe this I be slacke, Thinke me as base a Groome as Gaveston.
Lan. On that condition Lancaster will grant.
War. And so will Penbrooke and I.
Mor.se. And I.
Mor.ju. In this I count me highly gratified, And Mortimer, will rest at your command,
Qu. And when this favour Isabell forgets, Then let her live abandon'd and forlorne, But see in happy time my Lord the King, Having brought the Earle of Cornewall on his way, Is newes return'd, this newes will glad him much, Yet not so much as me, I love him more, Then he can Gaveston, would he lov'd me But halfe so much, then were I treble blest.
Enter King Edward mourning.
Hees gone, and for his absence thus I mourne. Did never sorrow goe so neere my heart, As doth the want of my sweete Gaveston, And could my Crownes revenew bring him backe, I would freely give it to his enemies, And thinke I gain'd, having bought so deere a friend.
Qu. Harke how he harpes upon his Minion.
Edw. My heart is as an Anvill unto sorrow, Which beates upon it like the Cyclops hammers, And with the noise turnes up my giddy braine, And makes me franticke for my Gaveston: Ah had some bloudlesse fury rose from Hell, And with my Kingly Scepter strooke me dead, When I was forst to leave my Gaveston.
Lan. Diablo, what passions call you these.
Qu. My gracious Lord I come to bring you newes.
Edw. That you have parled with your Mortimer.
Qu. That Gavestone my Lord shall be repeald.
Edw. Repeald, the newes is too sweet to be true.
Qu. But will you love me if you find it so?
Edw. If it be so, what will not Edward do?
Qu. For Gaveston, but not for Isabell.
Edw. For thee faire Queene, if thou lovest Gaveston, Ile hang a golden tongue about my necke, Seeing thou hast pleaded with so good successe.
Qu. No other jewels hang about my necke Then these my Lord, nor let me have more wealth, Then I may fetch from this rich treasury: O how a kisse revives poore Isabell.
Edw. Once more receive my hand, and let this be, A second mariage twixt thy selfe and me.
Qu. And may it prove more happy then the first, My gentle Lord, bespeake these Nobles faire, That waite attendance for a gracious looke, And on their knees salute your Majesty.
Edw. Couragious Lancaster, imbrace thy King, And as grosse vapours perish by the sunne, Even so let hatred with thy soveraignes smile, Live thou with me as my companion.
Lanc. This salutation over-joyes my heart.
Edw. Warwick shall be my chiefest Counsellour: These silver haires will more adorne my Court, Then gaudie silkes, or rich imbrothery, Chide me sweete Warwicke, if I goe astray.
War. Slay me my Lord, when I offend your Grace.
Edw. In solemne triumphs, and in publike showes Penbrooke shall beare the Sword before the King.
Pen. And with this sword Penbrooke will fight for you.
Edw. But wherefore walkes yong Mortimer aside? Be thou commander of our royall fleete, Or if that lofty office like thee not, I make thee here Lord Marshall of the realme.
Mor.ju. My Lord, ile Marshall all your enemies, As England shall be quiet, and you safe.
Edw. And as for you Lord Mortimer of Chirke, Whose great atchivements in our forraigne warre Deserves no common place nor meane reward: Be you the Generall of the levied troopes, That now are ready to assaile the Scots.
Mor.se. In this your Grace hath highly honoured me. For with my nature warre doth best agree.
Qu. Now is the King of England rich and strong, Having the love of his renowned Peeres.
Edw. I Isabell, nere was my heart so light, Clarke of the Crowne, direct our warrant forth, For Gaveston to Ireland: Beamont flye As fast as Iris, or Joves Mercury.
Beam. It shall be done my gracious Lord.
Edw. Lord Mortimer we leave you to your charge: Now let us in and feast it royally: Against our friend the Earle of Cornewall comes, Weele have a generall Tilt and Turnament, And then his marriage shall be solemniz'd, For wrote you not that I have made him sure Unto our Cosin, the Earle of Glosters heire.
Lan. Such newes we heare my Lord.
Edw. That day, if not for him, yet for my sake, Who in triumph will be challenger? Spare for no cost, we will requite your love.
War. In this, or ought your highnes shall command us.
Edw. Thankes gentle Warwicke, come lets in and revell.Exeunt.
Manent Mortimers.
Nephew, I must to Scotland, thou stayest here. Leave now to oppose thy selfe against the King, Thou seest by nature he is mild and calme, And seeing his minde so dotes on Gaveston, Let him without controlement have his will. The mightiest Kings have had their Minions, Great Alexander loved Ephestion, The conquering Hector did for Hilas weepe, And for Patroclus sterne Achilles droopt: And not Kings only, but the wisest men.
The Romane 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 vaine light-headed Earle, For riper yeeres will weane him from such toyes.
Mor.ju. Uncle his wanton humor grieves not me, But this I scorne, that one so basely borne Should by his Soveraignes favour grow so pert, And riot it with the treasure of the Realme, While Souldiers mutiny for want of pay. He weares a Lords revenew on his backe, And Midas like he jets it in the Court, With base outlandish Cullions at his heeles, Whose proud fantastike Liveries makes such shew, As if that Proteus God of shapes appear'd. I have not seene a dapper Jack so briske, He weares a short Italian hooded Cloake, Larded with Pearle, and in his tuscan cap A Jewell of more value then the Crowne, Whiles others walke below, the King and he, From out a window laugh at such as we, And flout our traine, and jest at our Attire: Uncle tis this that makes me impatient.
Mor.se. But Nephew, now you see the King is chang'd.
Mor.ju. Then so am I, and live to do him service, But whiles I have a sword, a hand, a heart, I will not yeeld to any such upstart. You know my minde, come Uncle lets away. exeunt.
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