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Now let the treach'rous Mortimers conspire,
Gar. It shall suffice me to enjoy your love,
Enter the Bishop of Coventry.
But is that wicked Gaveston return'd?
Edw. Aye, priest, and lives to be reveng'd on thee, That wert the only cause of his exile.
Gav. 'Tis true; and but for reverence of these robes, Thou shouldst not plod one foot beyond this place.
Bish. I did no more than I was bound to do ;
Gav. Saving your reverence, you must pardon me.
Edw. Throw off his golden mitre, rend his stole, And in the channel christen him anew.
Kent. Ah, brother, lay not violent hands on him, For he'll complain unto the see of Rome.
Gav. Let him complain unto the see of hell, I'll be reveng'd on him for my exile.
Edw. No, spare his life, but seize upon his goods : Be thou lord bishop, and receive his rents, And make him serve thee as thy chaplain : I give him theem here, use him as thou wilt.
Gav. He shall to prison, and there die in bolts. Edw. Aye, to the Tower, the Fleet, or where thou
wilt. Bish. For this offence, be thou accurst of God! Edw. Who's there? Convey this priest to the
tower. Bish. Do, do.
Edw. But, in the mean time, 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 beseem his holiness. [Exeunt.
Lan. What! will they tyrannize upon the church ?
Y. Mor. Well, let that peevish Frenchman guard
Unless his breast be sword-proof, he shall die.
realm, And secretary too, and lord of Man.
E. Mor. We may not, nor we will not suffer this.
Lan. My lord of Cornwall now at every word !
Nay more, the guard upon his lordship waits;
War. Thus leaning on the shoulder of the king, He nods, and scorns, and smiles at those that pass.
E. Mor. Doth no man take exceptions at the slave? Lan. All stomach him, but none dare speak a word. Y. Mor. Aye, that bewrays their baseness, Lan.
caster. Were all the earls and barons of my mind, We'd hale him from the bosom of the king, And at the court-gate hang the peasant up; Who, swoln with venom of ambitious pride, Will be the ruin of the realm and us. Enter the ARCHBISHOP of CANTERBURY, and a
[Erit Messenger. Lan. My lord, will you take arms against the
king? ARCHBISH.What need I? God himself is up in arms, When riolence is offerid to the church. Y. Mor. Then will you join with us, that be his ARCHBISH. What else, my lords? for it concerns
peers, To banish or behead that Gaveston ?
me near ;The bishoprick of Coventry is his.
Enter the QUEEN.
Queen. Unto the forest, gentle Mortimer,
E.Mor. Is it not strange, that he is thus bewitch'd ?
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 reveng'd at full. ARCABISH. But yet lift not your swords against the
king. Lan. No; but we'll 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 oppress'd with civil mutinies, I will endure a melancholy life, And let him frolick 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