That charming Circe, walking on the waves,
Had changed my shape, or at the marriage-day
The cup of Hymen had been full of poison,
Or with those arms that twined about my neck
I had been stifled, and not lived to see
The king my lord thus to abandon me!
Like frantic Juno will I fill the earth

With ghastly murmur of my sighs and cries;
For never doted Jove on Ganymede
So much as he on cursed Gaueston:
But that will more exasperate his wrath:
I must entreat him, I must speak him fair,
And be a means to call home Gaueston:
And yet he'll ever dote on Gaueston :
And so am I for ever miserable.

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Enter LANCASTER, the MORTIMERS, WARWICK, and PEMBROKE.

Lan. Look where the sister of the King of France Sits wringing of her hands, and beats her breast! War. The king, I fear, hath ill-entreated her. Pem. Hard is the heart that injuries such a saint. Y. Mor. I know 'tis 'long of Gaueston she weeps. E. Mor. Why, he is gone.

Y. Mor. Madam, how fares your grace?

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Queen. Ah, Mortimer! now breaks the king's hate forth, And he confesseth that he loves me not.

Y. Mor. Cry quittance, madam, then; and love not him. Queen. No, rather will I die a thousand deaths:

And yet I love in vain—he'll ne'er love me.

Lan. Fear ye not, madam; now his minion's gone,

His wanton humour will be quickly left.

Queen. Oh never, Lancaster! I am enjoin'd

To sue upon you all for his repeal;

This wills my lord, and this must I perform,

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Or else be banisht from his highness' presence.

Lan. For his repeal, madáme! he comes not back,
Unless the sea cast up his shipwreckt body.
War. And to behold so sweet a sight as that,
There's none here but would run his horse to death.

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Y. Mor. But, madam, would you have us call him home?
Queen. Ay, Mortimer, for till he be restored,

The angry king hath banisht me the court;
And, therefore, as thou lov'st and tend❜rest me,
Be thou my advocate unto these peers.

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Y. Mor. What! would you have me plead for Gaueston?

E. Mor. Plead for him that will, I am resolved.
Lan. And so am I; my lord, dissuade the queen.
Queen. O Lancaster! let him dissuade the king,
For 'tis against my will he should return.

War. Then speak not for him, let the peasant go.
Queen. 'Tis for myself I speak, and not for him.
Pem. No speaking will prevail, and therefore cease.
Y. Mor. Fair queen, forbear to angle for the fish,
Which, being caught, strikes him that takes it dead;
I mean that vile torpedo, Gaueston,
That now I hope floats on the Irish seas.

Queen. Sweet Mortimer, sit down by me awhile,
And I will tell thee reasons of such weight,
As thou wilt soon subscribe to his repeal.

Y. Mor. It is impossible; but speak your mind.
Queen. Then thus, but none shall hear it but ourselves.

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[Talks to Y. MOR. apari.

Lan. My lords, albeit the queen win Mortimer,
Will you be resolute, and hold with me?
E. Mor. Not I, against my nephew.

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Pem. Fear not, the queen's words cannot alter him.
War. No, do but mark how earnestly she pleads.
Lan. And see how coldly his looks make denial.

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War. She smiles, now for my life his mind is changed.

Lan. I'll rather lose his friendship I, than grant.
Y. Mor. Well, of necessity it must be so.

My lords, that I abhor base Gaueston
I hope your honours make no question,

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And therefore, though I plead for his repeal, 'Tis not for his sake, but for our avail:

Nay, for the realm's behoof, and for the king's.
Lan. Fie, Mortimer, dishonour not thyself!

Can this be true, 'twas good to banish him?

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And is this true, to call him home again?

Such reasons make white black, and dark night day.
Y. Mor. My lord of Lancaster, mark the respect.
Lan. In no respect can contraries be true.

Queen. Yet, good my lord, hear what he can allege.
War. All that he speaks is nothing, we're resolved.
Y. Mor. Do you not wish that Gaueston were dead?
Pem. I would he were.

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Y. Mor. Why then, my lord, give me but leave to speak.
E. Mor. But, nephew, do not play the sophister.
Y. Mor. This which I urge is of a burning zeal

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To mend the king, and do our country good.

Know you not Gaueston hath store of gold,

Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends,
As he will front the mightiest of us all?
And whéreas he shall live and be beloved,
'Tis hard for us to work his overthrow.

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War. Mark you but that, my lord of Lancaster.
Y. Mor. But were he here, detested as he is,
How easely might some base slave be suborn'd
To greet his lordship with a poniärd,
And none so much as blame the murderer,
But rather praise him for that brave attempt,
And in the Chronicle enrol his name

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For purging of the realm of such a plague?

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Pem. He sayeth true.

Lan. Ay, but how chance this was not done before?

Y. Mor. Because, my lords, it was not thought upon:

Nay, more, when he shall know it lies in us

To banish him, and then to call him home,

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'Twill make him vail the top-flag of his pride,

And fear t' offend the meanest nobleman.

E. Mor. But how if he do not, nephew?

Y. Mor. Then may we with some colour rise in arms.

For howsoever we have borne it out,

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'Tis treason to be up against the king;

So we shall have the people of our side,

Which for his father's sake lean to the king,

But cannot brook a night-grown mushrump,
Such a one as my lord of Cornwall is,
Should bear us down of the nobility.

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And when the commons and the nobles join, 'Tis not the king can buckler Gaueston;

We'll pull him from the strongest hold he hath.

My lords, if to perform this I be slack,

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Think me as base a groom as Gaueston.

Lan. On that condition, Lancaster will grant.
War. And so will Penbroke and I.

E. Mor. And I.

Y. Mor. In this I count me highly gratified, And Mortimer will rest at your command.

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Queen. And when this favour Isabel forgets,
Then let her live abandon'd and forlorn.
But see, in happy time, my lord the king,
Ha'ing brought the Earl of Cornwall on his way,
Is new return'd; this news will glad him much;

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Yet not so much as me; I love him more
Then he can Gaueston; would he loved me
But half so much, then were I treble-blest!

Enter KING EDWARD, mourning.

Edw. He's gone, and for his absence thus I mourn.

Did never sorrow go so near my heart,

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As doth the want of my sweet Gaueston!

And could my crown's revénue bring him back,
I'ld freely give it to his enemies,

And think I gain'd, ha'ing bought so dear a friend.
Queen. Hark! how he harps upon his miniön.
Edw. My heart is as an anvil unto sorrow,
Which beats upon it like the Cyclops' hammers,
And with the noise turns up my giddy brain,
And makes me frantic for my Gaueston.
Ah! had some bloodless fury rose from hell,
And with my kingly sceptre struck me dead,
When I was forced to leave my Gaueston!

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Lan. Diablo! what passions call you these?

Queen. My gracious lord, I come to bring you news.
Edw. That you have parlèd with your Mortimer?
Queen. That Gaueston, my lord, shall be repeal'd.

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Edw. Repeal'd! the news is too sweet to be true.
Queen. But will you love me, if you find it so?
Edw. If it be so, what will not Edward do?
Queen. For Gaueston, but not for Isabel.

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Edw. For thee, fair queen, if thou lov'st Gaueston,

I'll hang a golden tongue about thy neck,

Seeing thou hast pleaded with so good success.
Queen. No other jewels hang about my neck

Than these, my lord; nor let me have more wealth

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Than I may fetch from this rich treasury!

O how a kiss revives poor Isabel!

Edw. Once more receive my hand; and let this be

A second marriage 'twixt thyself and me.

Queen. And may it prove more happy than the first! 335 My gentle lord, bespeak these nobles fair,

That wait attendance for a gracious look,

Edw. Courageous Lancaster, embrace thy king;

And on their knees salute your majesty.

And, as gross vapours perish by the sun,

E'en so let hatred with thy sovereign's smile.

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Live thou with me as my companion.

Lan. This salutation overjoys my heart.

Edw. Warwick shall be my chiefest counsellor :

These silver hairs will more adorn my court

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Than gaudy silks, or rich embroidery.

Chide me, sweet Warwick, if I go astray.

War. Slay me, my lord, when I offend your grace. Edw. In solemn triumphs, and in public shows, Pembroke shall bear the sword before the king.

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Pem. And with this sword Penbroke will fight for you.

Edw. But wherefore walks young Mortimer aside? Be thou commander of our royal fleet;

Or if that lofty office like thee not,

I make thee here Lord Marshal of the realm.

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Y. Mor. My lord, I'll marshal so your enemies,

As England shall be quiet, and you safe.

Edw. And as for you, Lord Mortimer of Chirke,

Whose great achievements in our foreign war

Deserve no common place, nor mean reward;
Be you the general of the levied troops,

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That now are ready to assail the Scots.

E. Mor. In this your grace hath highly honour'd me, For with my nature war doth best agree.

Queen, Now is the King of England rich and strong, 365 Having the love of his renowned peers.

Edw. Ay, Isabel, ne'er was my heart so light.

Clerk of the crown, direct our warrant forth

For Gaueston to Ireland:

Enter BEAUMONT with warrant.

Beaumont, fly,

As fast as Iris, or Jove's Mercury.

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Bea. It shall be done, my gracious lord.

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;

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And then his marriage shall be solemnised.

For wot you not that I have made him sure
Unto our cousin, th' Earl of Gloster's heir?
Lan. Such news we hear, my lord.

Edw. That day, if not for him, yet for my sake,

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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. Edw. Thanks, gentle Warwick: come, let's in and revel.

[Exeunt. Manent the MORTIMERS.

E