Are not so poor, but, would they sell their land,
’Twould levy men enough to anger you.
We never beg, but use such prayers as these.
The idle triumphs, masks, lascivious shows,
And prodigal gifts bestowed on Gaveston,
Have drawn thy treasury dry, and made thee weak;
The murmuring commons, overstretched, break.
Look for rebellion, look to be deposed:
Thy garrisons are beaten out of France,
And, lame and poor, lie groaning at the gates;
The wild Oneil, with swarms of Irish kerns,
Lives uncontrolled within the English pale;
Unto the walls of York the Scots make road,
And, unresisted, drive away rich spoils.
The haughty Dane commands the narrow seas,
While in the harbour ride thy ships unrigged.
Thy gentle queen, sole sister to Valois,
Complains that thou hast left her all forlorn.
Thy court is naked, being bereft of those
That make a king seem glorious to the world,
I mean the peers, whom thou shouldst dearly love;
Libels are cast against thee in the street;
Ballads and rhymes made of thy overthrow.
The northern borderers, seeing their houses burnt,
Their wives and children slain, run up and down,
Cursing the name of thee and Gaveston.
When wert thou in the field with banner spread,
But once? and then thy soldiers marched like players,
With garish robes, not armour; and thyself,
Bedaubed with gold, rode laughing at the rest,
Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest,
Where women’s favours hung like labels down.
And thereof came it that the fleering Scots,
To England’s high disgrace, have made this jig;
“Maids of England, sore may you mourn,
For your lemans you have lost at Bannocksbourn—
With a heave and a ho!
What weeneth the king of England
So soon to have won Scotland!—
With a rombelow!”
And, when ’tis gone, our swords shall purchase more.
If you be moved, revenge it as you can:
Look next to see us with our ensigns spread. Exit with the Younger Mortimer.
My swelling heart for very anger breaks:
How oft have I been baited by these peers,
And dare not be revenged, for their power is great!
Yet, shall the crowning of these cockerels
Affright a lion? Edward, unfold thy paws,
And let their lives’-blood slake thy fury’s hunger.
If I be cruel and grow tyrannous,
Now let them thank themselves, and rue too late.
My lord, I see your love to Gaveston
Will be the ruin of the realm and you,
For now the wrathful nobles threaten wars;
And therefore, brother, banish him forever.
No marvel though thou scorn thy noble peers,
When I thy brother am rejected thus.
Away! Exit Kent.
Poor Gaveston, thou hast no friend but me!
Do what they can, we’ll live in Tynmouth here;
And, so I walk with him about the walls,
What care I though the earls begirt us round?
Here comes she that is cause of all these jars.
The younger Mortimer is grown so brave,
That to my face he threatens civil wars.
Would Lancaster and he had both caroused
A bowl of poison to each other’s health!
But let them go, and tell me what are these.
Two of my father’s servants whilst he lived:
May’t please your grace to entertain them now.
My name is Baldock, and my gentry
I fetch from Oxford, not from heraldry.
The fitter art thou, Baldock, for my turn.
Wait on me, and I’ll see thou shalt not want.
Ay, my lord;
His name is Spenser; he is well allied:
For my sake let him wait upon your grace;
Scarce shall you find a man of more desert.
Then, Spenser, wait upon me for his sake:
I’ll grace thee with a higher style ere long.
No greater titles happen unto me
Than to be favoured of your majesty!
Cousin, this day shall be your marriage feast:—
And, Gaveston, think that I love thee well,
To wed thee to our niece, the only heir
Unto the Earl of Gloucester late deceased.
I know, my lord, many will stomach me;
But I respect neither their love nor hate.
The headstrong barons shall not limit me;
He that I list to favour shall be great.
Come, let’s away; and, when the marriage ends,
Have at the rebels and their complices!
Scene III
Near Tynemouth Castle.
| Enter Kent, Lancaster, the Younger Mortimer, Warwick, Pembroke, and others. | |
| Kent |
My lords, of love to this our native land, |
| Lancaster |
I fear me, you are sent of policy, |
| Warwick |
He is your brother; therefore have we cause |
