_Edw._ But in the meantime, Gaveston, away, And take possession of his house and goods.

Come, follow me, and thou shalt have my guard To see it done, and bring thee safe again.

_Gav._ What should a priest do with so fair a house?

A prison may best[182] beseem his holiness.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_[183] _both the_ MORTIMERS, WARWICK, _and_ LANCASTER.

_War._ 'Tis true, the bishop is in the Tower, And goods and body given to Gaveston.

_Lan._ What! will they tyrannise upon the church?

Ah, wicked king! accursed Gaveston!

This ground, which is corrupted with their steps, Shall be their timeless[184] sepulchre or mine.

_Y. Mor._ Well, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure; Unless his breast be sword-proof he shall die.

_E. Mor._ How now, why droops the Earl of Lancaster?

_Y. Mor._ Wherefore is Guy of Warwick discontent? 10

_Lan._ That villain Gaveston is made an earl.

_E. Mor._ An earl!

_War._ I, and besides Lord Chamberlain of the realm, And Secretary too, and Lord of Man.

_E. Mor._ We may not, nor we will not suffer this.

_Y. Mor._ Why post we not from hence to levy men?

_Lan._ "My Lord of Cornwall," now at every word!

And happy is the man whom he vouchsafes, For vailing of his bonnet, one good look.

Thus, arm in arm, the king and he doth march: 20 Nay more, the guard upon his lordship waits; And all the court begins to flatter him.

_War_. Thus leaning on the shoulder of the king, He nods and scorns, and smiles at those that pa.s.s.

_E. Mor._ Doth no man take exceptions at the slave?

_Lan._ All stomach[185] him, but none dare speak a word.

_Y. Mor._ Ah, that bewrays their baseness, Lancaster.

Were all the earls and barons of my mind, We'd[186] hale him from the bosom of the king, And at the court-gate hang the peasant up; 30 Who, swoln with venom of ambitious pride, Will be the ruin of the realm and us.

_Enter the_ ARCHBISHOP _of_ CANTERBURY _and a_ Messenger.

_War._ Here comes my Lord of Canterbury's grace.

_Lan._ His countenance bewrays he is displeased.

_Archbish._ First were his sacred garments rent and torn, Then laid they violent hands upon him; next Himself imprisoned, and his goods a.s.seized: This certify the pope;--away, take horse. [_Exit_ Messenger.

_Lan._ My lord, will you take arms against the king?

_Archbish._ What need I? G.o.d himself is up in arms, 40 When violence is offered to the church.

_Y. Mor._ Then will you join with us, that be his peers, To banish or behead that Gaveston?

_Archbish._ What else, my lords? for it concerns me near;-- The bishop.r.i.c.k of Coventry is his.

_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA.

_Y. Mor._ Madam, whither walks your majesty so fast?

_Queen._ Unto the forest,[187] gentle Mortimer, To live in grief and baleful discontent; For now, my lord, the king regards me not, But doats upon the love of Gaveston. 50 He claps his cheek, and hangs about his neck, Smiles in his face, and whispers in his ears; And when I come he frowns, as who should say, "Go whither thou wilt, seeing I have Gaveston."

_E. Mor._ Is it not strange, that he is thus bewitched?

_Y. Mor._ Madam, return unto the court again: That sly inveigling Frenchman we'll exile, Or lose our lives; and yet ere that day come The king shall lose his crown; for we have power, And courage too, to be revenged at full. 60

_Archbish._ But yet lift not your swords against the king.

_Lan._ No; but we will lift Gaveston from hence.

_War._ And war must be the means, or he'll stay still.

_Queen._ Then let him stay; for rather than my lord Shall be oppressed with civil mutinies, I will endure a melancholy life, And let him frolic with his minion.

_Archbish._ My lords, to ease all this, but hear me speak:-- We and the rest, that are his counsellors, Will meet, and with a general consent 70 Confirm his banishment with our hands and seals.

_Lan._ What we confirm the king will frustrate.

_Y. Mor._ Then may we lawfully revolt from him.

_War._ But say, my lord, where shall this meeting be?

_Archbish._ At the New Temple.

_Y. Mor._ Content.

[_Archbish._] And, in the meantime, I'll entreat you all To cross to Lambeth, and there stay with me.

_Lan._ Come then, let's away.

_Y. Mor._ Madam, farewell! 80

_Queen_. Farewell, sweet Mortimer; and, for my sake, Forbear to levy arms against the king.