Edw.
Admit him neere.
Enter the Herald from the Barons, with
his Coate of Armes.
Mes.
Long live King Edward, Englands lawfull Lord.
Edw.
So wish not they Iwis that sent thee hither,
Thou com'st from Mortimer and his complices,
A ranker rout of Rebels never was:
Well, say thy Message.
Mes.
The Barons up in armes, by me salute
Your Highnesse, with long life and happinesse,
And bid me say as plainer to your Grace,
That if without effusion of bloud,
You will of this have ease and remedy,
That from your Princely Person you remove
This Spencer, as a putrifying branch,
That deads the royall Vine whose golden Leaves
Empale your Princely head, your Diadem,
Whose brightnesse such pernitious Upstarts dim,
Say they, and lovingly advise your Grace,
To cherish Vertue and Nobility,
And have old Servitors in high esteeme,
And shake off smooth dissembling Flatterers:
This granted, they, their honours, and their lives,
Are to your Highnesse vow'd and consecrate.
Spen.
A Traytors, will they still display their pride?
Edw.
Away, tarry no answere but be gone,
Rebels, will they appoint their Soveraigne
His sports, his pleasures, and his company?
Yet ere thou goe, see how I doe divorce Embrace Spencer.
Spencer from me: now get thee to thy Lords,
And tell them I will come to chastise them,
For murthering Gaveston: hie thee, get thee gone,
Edward with fire and sword, followes at thy heeles.
My Lord, perceive you how these Rebels swell:
Souldiers, good hearts, defend your Soveraignes right,
For now, even now, we march to make them stoope,
Away. Exeunt.
Alarums, Excursions, a great Fight, and a Retreat.
Enter
