What danger 'tis to stand against your king. [Aside. LAN. My lord, why do you thus incense your peers, That naturally would love and honour you But for that base and obscure Gaveston? Four earldoms have I, besides LancasterDerby, Salisbury, Lincoln, Leicester, These will I sell, to give my soldiers pay, Ere Gaveston shall stay within the realm; Therefore, if he be come, expel him straight. EDW. Barons and earls, your pride hath made me mute; But now I'll speak, and to the proof, I hope. Lord Piercy of the North, being highly mov'd, Yet dare you brave the king unto his face; EDW. Aye, yours; aud therefore I would wish you grant. WAR. Bridle thy anger, gentle Mortimer. Y. MOR. I cannot, nor I will not; I must speak. Cousin, our hands I hope shall fence our heads, And strike off his that makes you threaten us. Come, uncle, let us leave the brainsick king, E, MOR. Wiltshire hath men enough to save our heads. WAR. All Warwickshire will love him for my sake. LAN. And northward Lancaster hath many friends. Adieu, my lord and either change your mind, Or look to see the throne, where you should sit, To float in blood; and at thy wanton head, The glozing head of thy base minion thrown. [Exeunt Nobles. EDW. I cannot brook these haughty menaces: Am I a king, and must be over-rul'd? Brother, display my ensigns in the fields; I'll bandy with the barons and the earls, And either die or live with Gaveston. GAV. I can no longer keep me from my lord: EDW. What, Gaveston! welcome-Kiss not my hand Embrace me, Gaveston, as I do thee. Why shouldst thou kneel? Know'st thou not who I am? Thy friend, thyself, another Gaveston! GAV. And since I went from hence, no soul in hell Hath felt more torment than poor Gaveston. EDW. I know it-Brother, welcome home my friend. * Gaveston, in the old editions. Now let the treach'rous Mortimers conspire, Chief secretary to the state and me, GAV. My lord, these titles far exceed my worth. KENT. Brother, the least of these may well suffice For one of greater birth than Gaveston. EDW. Cease, brother; for I cannot brook these words. Thy worth, sweet friend, is far above my gifts, I'll give thee more; for, but to honour thee, Fear'st thou thy person? thou shalt have a guard. GAV. It shall suffice me to enjoy your love, But is that wicked Gaveston return'd? EDW. Aye, priest, and lives to be reveng'd on thee, That wert the only cause of his exile. GAV. 'Tis true; and but for reverence of these robes, Thou shouldst not plod one foot beyond this place. BISH. I did no more than I was bound to do; And, Gaveston, unless thou be reclaim'd, As then I did incense the parliament, So will I now, and thou shalt back to France. GAV. Saving your reverence, you must pardon me, EDW. Throw off his golden mitre, rend his stole, And in the channel christen him anew. KENT. Ah, brother, lay not violent hands on him, For he'll complain unto the see of Rome. GAV. Let him complain unto the see of hell, I'll 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 chaplain : I give him thee-here, use him as thou wilt. GAV. He shall to prison, and there die in bolts. EDW. Aye, to the Tower, the Fleet, or where thou wilt. BISH. For this offence, be thou accurst of God! tower. BISH. Do, do. EDW. But, in the mean 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 again. GAV. What should a priest do with so fair a house? A prison may best beseem his holiness. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter both the MORTIMERS, WARWICK and WAR. 'Tis true, the bishop is in the Tower, LAN. What! will they tyrannize upon the church? Ah, wicked king! accursed Gaveston! This ground, which is corrupted with their steps, Shall be their timeless sepulchre, or mine. Y. MOR. Well, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure; Unless his breast be sword-proof, he shall die. E. MOR. How now, why droops the earl of Lancaster? Y. MOR. Wherefore is Guy of Warwick discontent? WAR. Aye, and besides lord chamberlain of the realm, And secretary too, and lord of Man. E. MOR. We may not, nor we will not suffer this. Y. MOR: Why post we not from hence to levy men? LAN. My lord of Cornwall now at every word! And happy is the man whom he vouchsafes, For vailing of his bonnet, one good look. Thus, arm in arm, the king and he doth march: |