Ah, wicked King! Accursed Gaveston!
LAN : . . . Ah, wicked King! Accursed Gaveston!
This ground which is corrupted with their steps
Shall be their timeless sepulcher 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?
LAN : That villain Gaveston is made an earl.
E. MOR : An earl!
WAR : Ay, 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 —
Nay more, the guard upon his lordship waits,
And all the court begins to flatter him.
WAR : Thus leaning on the shoulder of the King,
[Leans on Lancaster]
He nods and scorns and smiles at those that pass.
E. MOR : Doth no man take exceptions at the slave?
LAN : All stomach him, but none dare speak a word.
Y. MOR : Ah, that betrays their baseness, Lancaster!
Were all the earls and barons of my mind,
We'll hale him from the bosom of the King
And at the court-gate hang the peasant up:
Who swoln with venom of ambitious pride
Will be the ruin of the realm and us. . . .
[Enter the Queen]
Y. MOR : Madam, whither walks Your Majesty so fast!
QUEEN ISABELLA : 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 who should say,
" Go whither thou wilt seeing I have Gaveston! "
E. MOR : Is it not strange that he is thus bewitch'd?
Y. MOR : Madam, return unto the court again.
That sly inveigling Frenchman we'll exile,
Or lose our lives. And yet, ere that day come,
The King shall lose his crown, for we have power,
And courage too, to be reveng'd at full.
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY : But yet lift not your swords against the King.
LAN : No but we'll lift Gaveston from hence.
WAR : And war must be the means, or he'll stay still.
Q. ISAB : Then let him stay. For rather than my lord
Shall be oppress'd by civil mutinies,
I will endure a melancholy life.
— And let him frolic with his minion.
A. OF CANT : My lords, to ease all this, but hear me speak:
We and the rest that are his counsellors
Will meet, and with a general consent
Confirm his banishment with our hands and seals.
LAN : What we confirm the King will frustrate.
Y. MOR : Then may we lawfully revolt from him.
WAR : But say, my lord, where shall this meeting be?
A. OF CANT : At the New Temple.
Y. MOR : Content.
A. OF CANT : And, in the meantime, I'll entreat you all
To cross to Lambeth, and there stay with me.
LAN : Come then, let's away.
Y. MOR : Madam, farewell!
Q. ISAB : Farewell, sweet Mortimer; and for my sake
Forbear to levy arms against the King.
Y. MOR : Ay, if words will serve; if not, I must.
This ground which is corrupted with their steps
Shall be their timeless sepulcher 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?
LAN : That villain Gaveston is made an earl.
E. MOR : An earl!
WAR : Ay, 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 —
Nay more, the guard upon his lordship waits,
And all the court begins to flatter him.
WAR : Thus leaning on the shoulder of the King,
[Leans on Lancaster]
He nods and scorns and smiles at those that pass.
E. MOR : Doth no man take exceptions at the slave?
LAN : All stomach him, but none dare speak a word.
Y. MOR : Ah, that betrays their baseness, Lancaster!
Were all the earls and barons of my mind,
We'll hale him from the bosom of the King
And at the court-gate hang the peasant up:
Who swoln with venom of ambitious pride
Will be the ruin of the realm and us. . . .
[Enter the Queen]
Y. MOR : Madam, whither walks Your Majesty so fast!
QUEEN ISABELLA : 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 who should say,
" Go whither thou wilt seeing I have Gaveston! "
E. MOR : Is it not strange that he is thus bewitch'd?
Y. MOR : Madam, return unto the court again.
That sly inveigling Frenchman we'll exile,
Or lose our lives. And yet, ere that day come,
The King shall lose his crown, for we have power,
And courage too, to be reveng'd at full.
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY : But yet lift not your swords against the King.
LAN : No but we'll lift Gaveston from hence.
WAR : And war must be the means, or he'll stay still.
Q. ISAB : Then let him stay. For rather than my lord
Shall be oppress'd by civil mutinies,
I will endure a melancholy life.
— And let him frolic with his minion.
A. OF CANT : My lords, to ease all this, but hear me speak:
We and the rest that are his counsellors
Will meet, and with a general consent
Confirm his banishment with our hands and seals.
LAN : What we confirm the King will frustrate.
Y. MOR : Then may we lawfully revolt from him.
WAR : But say, my lord, where shall this meeting be?
A. OF CANT : At the New Temple.
Y. MOR : Content.
A. OF CANT : And, in the meantime, I'll entreat you all
To cross to Lambeth, and there stay with me.
LAN : Come then, let's away.
Y. MOR : Madam, farewell!
Q. ISAB : Farewell, sweet Mortimer; and for my sake
Forbear to levy arms against the King.
Y. MOR : Ay, if words will serve; if not, I must.
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