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
