_Q. Isab._ Now is the king of England rich and strong, Having the love of his renowmed peers.

_K. Edw._ Ay, Isabel, ne'er was my heart so light.-- Clerk of the crown, direct our warrant forth, For Gaveston, to Ireland!

_Enter_ BEAUMONT _with warrant._

Beaumont, fly As fast as Iris or Jove's Mercury.

_Beau._ It shall be done, my gracious lord. [_Exit._ _K. Edw._ Lord Mortimer, we leave you to your charge.

Now let us in, and feast it royally.

Against our friend the Earl of Cornwall comes We'll have a general tilt and tournament; And then his marriage shall be solemnis'd; For wot you not that I have made him sure Unto our cousin, the Earl of Glocester's heir?

_Lan._ Such news we hear, my lord.

_K. Edw._ That day, if not for him, yet for my sake, Who in the triumph will be challenger, Spare for no cost; we will requite your love.

_War._ In this or aught your highness shall command us.

_K. Edw._ Thanks, gentle Warwick. Come, lets in and revel.

[_Exeunt all except the elder Mortimer and the younger Mortimer._ _E. Mor._ Nephew, I must to Scotland; thou stay'st here.

Leave now to oppose thyself against the king: Thou seest by nature he is mild and calm; And, seeing his mind so dotes on Gaveston, Let him without controlment have his will.

The mightiest kings have had their minions; Great Alexander lov'd Hephaestion, The conquering Hercules for Hylas wept, And for Patroclus stern Achilles droop'd And not kings only, but the wisest men; The Roman Tully lov'd Octavius, Grave Socrates wild Alcibiades.

Then let his grace, whose youth is flexible, And promiseth as much as we can wish, Freely enjoy that vain light-headed earl; For riper years will wean him from such toys.

_Y. Mor._ Uncle, his wanton humour grieves not me; But this I scorn, that one so basely-born Should by his sovereign's favour grow so pert, And riot it with the treasure of the realm, While soldiers mutiny for want of pay.

He wears a lord's revenue on his back, And, Midas-like, he jets it in the court, With base outlandish cullions at his heels, Whose proud fantastic liveries make such show As if that Proteus, G.o.d of shapes, appear'd.

I have not seen a dapper Jack so brisk: He wears a short Italian hooded cloak, Larded with pearl, and in his Tuscan cap A jewel of more value than the crown.

While others walk below, the king and he, From out a window, laugh at such as we, And flout our train, and jest at our attire.

Uncle, 'tis this that makes me impatient.

_E. Mor._ But, nephew, now you see the king is chang'd.

_Y. Mor._ Then so I am, and live to do him service: But, whiles I have a sword, a hand, a heart, I will not yield to any such upstart.

You know my mind: come, uncle, let's away. [_Exeunt._

_Enter the younger_ SPENSER _and_ BALDOCK.

_Bald._ Spenser, Seeing that our lord the Earl of Glocester's dead, Which of the n.o.bles dost thou mean to serve?

_Y. Spen._ Not Mortimer, nor any of his side, Because the king and he are enemies.

Baldock, learn this of me: a factious lord Shall hardly do himself good, much less us; But he that hath the favour of a king May with one word advance us while we live.

The liberal Earl of Cornwall is the man On whose good fortune Spenser's hope depends.

_Bald._ What, mean you, then, to be his follower?

_Y. Spen._ No, his companion; for he loves me well, And would have once preferr'd me to the king.

_Bald._ But he is banish'd; there's small hope of him.

_Y. Spen._ Ay, for a while; but, Baldock, mark the end.

A friend of mine told me in secrecy That he's repeal'd and sent for back again; And even now a post came from the court With letters to our lady from the king; And, as she read, she smil'd; which makes me think It is about her lover Gaveston.

_Bald._ 'Tis like enough; for, since he was exil'd, She neither walks abroad nor comes in sight.

But I had thought the match had been broke off, And that his banishment had chang'd her mind.

_Y. Spen._ Our lady's first love is not wavering; My life for thine, she will have Gaveston.

_Bald._ Then hope I by her means to be preferr'd, Having read unto her since she was a child.

_Y. Spen._ Then, Baldock, you must cast the scholar off, And learn to court it like a gentleman.

'Tis not a black coat and a little band, A velvet-cap'd cloak, fac'd before with serge, And smelling to a nosegay all the day, Or holding of a napkin in your hand, Or saying a long grace at a table's end, Or making low legs to a n.o.bleman, Or looking downward, with your eye-lids close, And saying, "Truly, an't may please your honour,"

Can get you any favour with great men: You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.

_Bald._ Spenser, thou know'st I hate such formal toys, And use them but of mere hypocrisy.

Mine old lord, whiles he liv'd, was so precise, That he would take exceptions at my b.u.t.tons, And, being like pins' heads, blame me for the bigness; Which made me curate-like in mine attire, Though inwardly licentious enough, And apt for any kind of villany.

I am none of these common pedants, I, That cannot speak without _propterea quod._ _Y. Spen._ But one of those that saith _quando-quidem,_ And hath a special gift to form a verb.

_Bald._ Leave off this jesting; here my lady comes.

_Enter_ KING EDWARD'S Niece.

_Niece._ The grief for his exile was not so much As is the joy of his returning home.

This letter came from my sweet Gaveston: What need'st thou, love, thus to excuse thyself?

I know thou couldst not come and visit me. [_Reads._ _I will not long be from thee, though I die;--_ This argues the entire love of my lord;-- [_Reads._ _When I forsake thee, death seize on my heart!--_ But stay thee here where Gaveston shall sleep.

[_Puts the letter into her bosom._ Now to the letter of my lord the king: He wills me to repair unto the court, And meet my Gaveston: why do I stay, Seeing that he talks thus of my marriage day?-- Who's there? Baldock!

See that my coach be ready; I must hence.

_Bald._ It shall be done, madam.

_Niece._ And meet me at the park-pale presently [_Exit Baldock._ Spenser, stay you, and bear me company, For I have joyful news to tell thee of; My lord of Cornwall is a-coming over, And will be at the court as soon as we.

_Y. Spen._ I knew the king would have him home again.

_Niece._ If all things sort out, as I hope they will, Thy service, Spenser, shall be thought upon.

_Y. Spen._ I humbly thank your ladyship.

_Niece._ Come, lead the way: I long till I am there. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ KING EDWARD, QUEEN ISABELLA, KENT, LANCASTER, _the younger_ MORTIMER, WARWICK, PEMBROKE, _and_ Attendants.

_K. Edw._ The wind is good; I wonder why he stays: I fear me he is wreck'd upon the sea.

_Q. Isab._ Look, Lancaster, how pa.s.sionate he is, And still his mind runs on his minion!

_Lan._ My lord,-- _K. Edw._ How now! what news? is Gaveston arriv'd?

_Y. Mor._ Nothing but Gaveston! what means your grace?

You have matters of more weight to think upon: The King of France sets foot in Normandy.

_K. Edw._ A trifle! we'll expel him when we please.

But tell me, Mortimer, what's thy device Against the stately triumph we decreed?

_Y. Mor._ A homely one, my lord, not worth the telling.

_K. Edw._ Pray thee, let me know it.

_Y. Mor._ But, seeing you are so desirous, thus it is; A lofty cedar tree, fair flourishing, On whose top branches kingly eagles perch, And by the bark a canker creeps me up, And gets unto the highest bough of all; The motto, _aeque tandem._ _K. Edw._ And what is yours, my Lord of Lancaster?

_Lan._ My lord, mine's more obscure than Mortimer's.

Pliny reports, there is a flying-fish Which all the other fishes deadly hate, And therefore, being pursu'd, it takes the air: No sooner is it up, but there's a fowl That seizeth it: this fish, my lord, I bear; The motto this, _Undique mors est._ _Kent._ Proud Mortimer! ungentle Lancaster!

Is this the love you bear your sovereign?

Is this the fruit your reconcilement bears?

Can you in words make show of amity, And in your shields display your rancorous minds?

What call you this but private libelling Against the Earl of Cornwall and my brother?

_Q. Isab._ Sweet husband, be content; they all love you.

_K. Edw._ They love me not that hate my Gaveston.

I am that cedar; shake me not too much; And you the eagles; soar ye ne'er so high, I have the jesses that will pull you down; And _aeque tandem_ shall that canker cry Unto the proudest peer of Britainy.

Thou that compar'st him to a flying-fish, And threaten'st death whether he rise or fall, 'Tis not the hugest monster of the sea, Nor foulest harpy, that shall swallow him.

_Y. Mor._ If in his absence thus he favours him, What will he do whenas he shall be present?

_Lan._ That shall we see: look, where his lordship come!

_Enter_ GAVESTON.

_K. Edw._ My Gaveston!

Welcome to Tynmouth! welcome to thy friend!

Thy absence made me droop and pine away; For, as the lovers of fair Danae, When she was lock'd up in a brazen tower, Desir'd her more, and wax'd outrageous, So did it fare with me: and now thy sight Is sweeter far than was thy parting hence Bitter and irksome to my sobbing heart.

_Gav._ Sweet lord and king, your speech preventeth mine; Yet have I words left to express my joy: The shepherd, nipt with biting winter's rage, Frolics not more to see the painted spring Than I do to behold your majesty.

_K. Edw._ Will none of you salute my Gaveston?

_Lan._ Salute him! yes.--Welcome, Lord Chamberlain!

_Y. Mor._ Welcome is the good Earl of Cornwall!

_War._ Welcome, Lord Governor of the Isle of Man!

_Pem._ Welcome, Master Secretary!

_Kent._ Brother, do you hear them?