Were he a peasant, being my minion,
I’ll make the proudest of you stoop to him.
My lord—you may not thus disparage us.—
Away, I say, with hateful Gaveston!
Nay, then, lay violent hands upon your king:
Here, Mortimer, sit thou in Edward’s throne;
Warwick and Lancaster, wear you my crown.
Was ever king thus overruled as I?
Learn, then, to rule us better, and the realm.
What we have done, our heart-blood shall maintain.
Think you that we can brook this upstart’s pride?
Anger and wrathful fury stops my speech.
Why are you not moved? be patient, my lord,
And see what we your counsellors have done.
My lords, now let us all be resolute,
And either have our wills, or lose our lives.
Meet you for this, proud over-daring peers!
Ere my sweet Gaveston shall part from me,
This isle shall fleet upon the ocean,
And wander to the unfrequented Inde.
You know that I am legate to the Pope:
On your allegiance to the see of Rome,
Subscribe, as we have done, to his exile.
Curse him, if he refuse; and then may we
Depose him, and elect another king.
Ay, there it goes! but yet I will not yield:
Curse me, depose me, do the worst you can.
Then linger not, my lord, but do it straight.
Remember how the bishop was abused:
Either banish him that was the cause thereof,
Or I will presently discharge these lords
Of duty and allegiance due to thee.
Aside. It boots me not to threat; I must speak fair:
The legate of the Pope will be obeyed.—
My lord, you shall be Chancellor of the realm;
Thou, Lancaster, High-Admiral of our fleet;
Young Mortimer and his uncle shall be earls;
And you, Lord Warwick, President of the North;
And thou of Wales. If this content you not,
Make several kingdoms of this monarchy,
And share it equally amongst you all,
So I may have some nook or corner left,
To frolic with my dearest Gaveston.
Nothing shall alter us; we are resolved.
Come, come, subscribe.
Why should you love him whom the world hates so?
Because he loves me more than all the world.
Ah, none but rude and savage-minded men
Would seek the ruin of my Gaveston!
You that be noble-born should pity him.
You that are princely-born should shake him off:
For shame, subscribe, and let the clown depart.
Urge him, my lord.
Are you content to banish him the realm?
I see I must, and therefore am content:
Instead of ink, I’ll write it with my tears. Subscribes.
Give it me: I’ll have it published in the streets.
I’ll see him presently despatched away.
Now is my heart at ease.
And so is mine.
This will be good news to the common sort.
How fast they run to banish him I love!
They would not stir, were it to do me good.
Why should a king be subject to a priest?
Proud Rome, that hatchest such imperial grooms,
With these thy superstitious taper-lights,
Wherewith thy antichristian churches blaze,
I’ll fire thy crazed buildings, and enforce
The papal towers to kiss the lowly ground!
With slaughtered priests make Tiber’s channel swell,
And banks raised higher with their sepulchres!
As for the peers, that back the clergy thus,
If I be king, not one of them shall live.
My lord, I hear it whispered everywhere,
That I am banished and must fly the land.
’Tis true, sweet Gaveston: O were it false!
The legate of the Pope will have it so,
And thou must hence, or I shall be deposed.
But I will reign to be revenged of them;
And therefore, sweet friend, take it patiently.
Live where thou wilt, I’ll send thee gold enough;
And long thou shalt not stay; or, if thou dost,
I’ll come to thee; my love shall ne’er decline.
Is all my hope turned to this hell of grief?
Rend not my heart with thy too-piercing words:
Thou from this land, I from myself am banished.
To go from hence grieves not poor Gaveston;
But to forsake you, in whose gracious looks
The blessedness of Gaveston remains;
For nowhere else seeks he felicity.
And only this torments my wretched soul,
That, whether I will or no, thou must depart.
Be governor of Ireland in my stead,
And there abide till fortune call thee home.
Here, take my picture, and let me wear thine:
O, might I keep thee here, as I do this,
Happy were I! but now most miserable.
’Tis something to be pitied of a king.
Thou shalt not hence; I’ll hide thee, Gaveston.
I shall be found, and then ’twill grieve me more.
Kind words and mutual talk makes our grief greater:
Therefore, with dumb embracement, let us part—
Stay, Gaveston; I cannot leave thee thus.
For every look, my love drops down a tear:
Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow.
The time is little that thou hast to stay,
And, therefore, give me leave to look my fill.
But, come, sweet friend; I’ll bear thee on thy way.
I pass not for their anger. Come, let’s go:
O, that we might as well return as go!
On Mortimer; with whom, ungentle queen—
I judge no more—judge you the rest, my lord.
In saying this, thou wrong’st me, Gaveston:
Is’t
