Edward II

not enough that thou corrupt’st my lord,
And art a bawd to his affections,
But thou must call mine honour thus in question? Gaveston I mean not so; your grace must pardon me. King Edward

Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer,
And by thy means is Gaveston exiled:
But I would wish thee reconcile the lords,
Or thou shalt ne’er be reconciled to me.

Queen Isabella Your highness knows, it lies not in my power. King Edward Away, then! touch me not.⁠—Come, Gaveston. Queen Isabella Villain, ’tis thou that robb’st me of my lord. Gaveston Madam, ’tis you that rob me of my lord. King Edward Speak not unto her: let her droop and pine. Queen Isabella

Wherein, my lord, have I deserved these words?
Witness the tears that Isabella sheds,
Witness this heart, that, sighing for thee, breaks,
How dear my lord is to poor Isabel!

King Edward

And witness heaven how dear thou art to me:
There weep; for, till my Gaveston be repealed,
Assure thyself thou com’st not in my sight.

Exeunt King Edward and Gaveston. Queen Isabella

O miserable and distressed queen!
Would, when I left sweet France, and was embarked,
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 Gaveston:
But that will more exasperate his wrath;
I must entreat him, I must speak him fair,
And be a means to call home Gaveston:
And yet he’ll ever dote on Gaveston;
And so am I forever miserable.

Re-enter Lancaster, Warwick, Pembroke, the Elder Mortimer, and the Younger Mortimer. Lancaster

Look, where the sister of the king of France
Sits wringing of her hands and beats her breast!

Warwick The king, I fear, hath ill-treated her. Pembroke Hard is the heart that injures such a saint. Younger Mortimer I know ’tis ’long of Gaveston she weeps. Elder Mortimer Why, he is gone. Younger Mortimer Madam, how fares your grace? Queen Isabella

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

Younger Mortimer Cry quittance, madam, then, and love not him. Queen Isabella

No, rather will I die a thousand deaths:
And yet I love in vain; he’ll ne’er love me.

Lancaster

Fear ye not, madam; now his minion’s gone,
His wanton humour will be quickly left.

Queen Isabella

O, never, Lancaster! I am enjoined,
To sue unto you all for his repeal:
This wills my lord, and this must I perform,
Or else be banished from his highness’ presence.

Lancaster

For his repeal, madam! he comes not back,
Unless the sea cast up his shipwrecked body.

Warwick

And to behold so sweet a sight as that,
There’s none here but would run his horse to death.

Younger Mortimer But, madam, would you have us call him home? Queen Isabella

Ay, Mortimer, for, till he be restored,
The angry king hath banished me the court;
And, therefore, as thou lov’st and tender’st me,
Be thou my advocate unto these peers.

Younger Mortimer What, would you have me plead for Gaveston? Elder Mortimer Plead for him that will, I am resolved. Lancaster And so am I, my lord: dissuade the queen. Queen Isabella

O, Lancaster, let him dissuade the king!
For ’tis against my will he should return.

Warwick Then speak not for him; let the peasant go. Queen Isabella ’Tis for myself I speak, and not for him. Pembroke No speaking will prevail; and therefore cease. Younger Mortimer

Fair queen, forbear to angle for the fish
Which, being caught, strikes him that takes it dead;
I mean that vile torpedo, Gaveston,
That now, I hope, floats on the Irish seas.

Queen Isabella

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

Younger Mortimer It is impossible: but speak your mind. Queen Isabella Then, thus;⁠—but none shall hear it but ourselves. Talks to the Younger Mortimer, apart. Lancaster

My lords, albeit the queen win Mortimer,
Will you be resolute and hold with me?

Elder Mortimer Not I, against my nephew. Pembroke Fear not; the queen’s words cannot alter him. Warwick No? do but mark how earnestly she pleads! Lancaster And see how coldly his looks make denial! Warwick She smiles: now, for my life, his mind is changed! Lancaster I’ll rather lose his friendship, I, than grant. Younger Mortimer

Well, of necessity it must be so.⁠—
My lords, that I abhor base Gaveston
I hope your honours make no question.
And therefore, though I plead for his repeal,
’Tis not for his sake, but to our avail;
Nay, for the realm’s behoof, and for the king’s.

Lancaster

Fie, Mortimer, dishonour not thyself!
Can this be true, ’twas good to banish him?
And is this true, to call him home again?
Such reasons make white black, and dark night day.

Younger Mortimer My Lord of Lancaster, mark the respect. Lancaster In no respect can contraries be true. Queen Isabella Yet, good my lord, hear what he can allege. Warwick All that he speaks is nothing; we are resolved. Younger Mortimer Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead? Pembroke I would he were! Younger Mortimer Why, then, my lord, give me but leave to speak. Elder Mortimer But, nephew, do not play the sophister. Younger Mortimer

This which I urge is of a burning zeal
To mend the king and do our country good.
Know you not Gaveston hath store of gold,
Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends
As he will front the mightiest of us all?
And whereas he shall live and be beloved,
’Tis hard for us to work his overthrow.

Warwick Mark you but that, my lord of Lancaster. Younger Mortimer

But, were he here, detested as he is,
How easily might some base slave be suborned
To greet his lordship with a poniard,
And none so much as blame the murderer,
But rather praise him for that brave attempt,
And in the chronicle enrol his name
For purging of the realm of such a plague!

Pembroke He saith true. Lancaster Ay, but how chance this was not done before? Younger Mortimer

Because, my lords,