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.
