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.
