EDWARD II

Will you not grant me this? in spite of them I'll have my will, and these two Mortimers, That cross me thus, shall know I am displeased. Well Mortimer, isle make thee rue these words, Beseems it thee to contradict thy king? Frownst thou thereat aspiring Lancaster, The sword shall plane the furrows of thy brows, And hew these knees that now are grown so stiff, I will have Gaveston, and you shall know, What danger 'tis to stand against your king. I yours, and therefore I would wish you grant. I cannot brook these haughty menaces: Am I a king and must be over ruled? Brother display my ensigns in the field, I'll bandy with the Barons and the Earls, And either die, or live with Gaveston. What Gaveston, welcome: kiss not my hand, Embrace me Gaveston as I do thee: Why shouldst thou kneel, Knowest thou not who I am? Thy friend, thy self, another Gaveston, Not Hilas was more mourned of Hercules, Then thou hast been of me since thy exile. I know it, brother welcome home my friend, Now let the treacherous Mortimers conspire, And that high minded earl of Lancaster, I have my wish, in that I joy thy sighed, And sooner shall the sea over whelm my land, Then bear the ship that shall transport thee hence: I here create thee Lord high Chamberlain, Chief Secretary to the state and me, Earl of Cornwall, king and lord of Man. Cease brother, for I cannot brook these words, Thy Worth sweet friend is far above my gifts, Therefore to equal it receive my heart, If for these dignities thou be envied, I'll give thee more, for but to honour thee, Is Edward pleazd with kingly regiment. Fearest thou thy person? thou shalt have a guard: Wants thou gold? go to my treasury, Wouldst thou be loud and feared? receive my seal, Save or condemn, and in our name command, What so thy mind affects or fancy likes. Whither goes my Lord of Coventry so fast? I priest, and lives to be revenged on thee, That Wertenberg the only cause of his exile. Throw of his golden miter, rend his stole, And in the channel Christian him a new. No, spare his life, but seize upon his goods, Be thou lord bishop, and receive his rends, And make him serve thee as thy chaplain, I give him thee, here use him as thou wilt. I to the tower, the fleet, or where thou wilt. Whose there? convey this priest to the tower. 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. What? are you moved that Gaveston sits here? It is our pleasure, we will have it so. Lay hands on that traitor Mortimer. Whither will you bear him, stay or you shall die, Were he a peasant being my minion, I'll make the proudest of you stoop to him. Nay, then lay violent hands upon your king, Here Mortimer, fit thou in Edwards throne, Warwick and Lancaster, wear you my crown, Was ever king thus over ruled as I? Anger and wrathful fury stops my speech. Meet you for this, proud over-daring peers, Ere my sweet Gaveston shall partly from me, This I'll shall fleet upon the Ocean, And wander to the unfrequented Ind. I there it goes, but yet I will not yield, Curse me, depose me, do the worst you can. 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. Because he loves me more then 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. I see I must, and therefore am content, In steed of ink, isle write it with my tears. 'Tis done, and now accursed hand fallen off. 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 Room, that hatchest such imperial grooms, For these thy superstitious taperlights, Wherewith thy antichristian churches blaze, I'll fire thy crazed buildings, and enforce The papal towers, to kiss the lowly ground, With slaughtered priests may Tibers channel swell And banks raised higher with their sepulchers: As for the peers that back the clergy thus, If I be king, not one of them shall live. '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, isle send thee gold enough, And long thou shalt not stay, or if thou dost, I'll come to thee, my love shall near decline. Rend not my heart with thy too piercing words Thou from this land, I from my self am banished. And only this torments my wretched soul, That whither 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, Oh might I keep thee here, as I do this, Happy were I, but now most miserable. Thou shalt not hence, isle hide thee Gaveston. I pass not for their anger, come lets go, Oh that we might as well return as go. Fawn not on me French strumpet, get thee gone. 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 never be reconciled to me. Away then, touch me not, come Gaveston. Speak not unto her, let her droop and pine. And witness heaven how deer thou art to me. There weep, for till my Gaveston be repealed, Assure thy self thou comest not in my sighed. He's gone, and for his absence thus I moorne, Did never sorrow go so near my heart, As doth the want of my sweet Gaveston, And could my crowns revenue bring him back, I would freely give it to his enemies, And think I gained, having bought so deer a friend. My heart is as and 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 Gaveston : Ah had some bloodless fury rose from hell, And with my kingly sceptre stroke me dead, When I was forced to leave my Gaveston. That you have parled with your Mortimer. Repealed, the news is too sweet to be true. If it be so, what will not Edward do? For thee saire Queen, if thou love Gaveston, I'll hang a golden tongue about thy neck, Seeing thou hast pleaded with so good success. Once more receive my hand, and let this be, A second marriage betwixt thy self and me. Courageous Lancaster, embrace thy king, And as gross vapours perish by the sun, Even so let hatred with thy sovereign smile, Live thou with me as my companion. Warwick, shall be my chiefest counseller: These silver hairs will more adorn my court, Then gaudy silks, or rich imbrotherie, Chide me sweet Warwick, if I go astray. In solemn triumphs, and in public shows, Pembroke shall bear the sword before the king. 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. And as for you, lord Mortimer of Chirk, Whose great achievements in our foreign war, Deserves no common place, nor mean reward: Be you the general of the levied troops, That now are ready to assail the Scots. I Isabel, never was my heart so light, Clarke of the crown, direct our warrant forth, For Gaveston to Ireland: Beamont fly, As fast as Iris, or Jove's Mercury. Lord Mortimer, we leave you to your charge. Now let us in, and feast it royally: Against our friend the earl of Cornwall comes, Weel have a general tilt and tournament, And then his marriage shall be solemnized, For wot you not that I have made him sure, Unto our cousin, the earl of Gloucesters heir. That day, if not for him. yet for my sake, Who in the triumph will be challenger, Spare for no cost, we will requite your love. The wind is good, I wonder why he stays, I fear me he is wracked upon the sea. How now, what news, is Gaveston arriude? A trifle, weel expel him when we please: But tell me Mortimer, whats thy devise, Against the stately triumph we decreed? Prithee let me know it. And what is yours my lord of Lancaster? Proud Mortimer, ungentle Lancaster, Is this the love you bear your sovereign? Is this the fruit your reconcilement bears? Can you in words make show of amity, And in your shields display your rancorous minds? What call you this but private libeling, Against the Earl of Cornwall and my brother? They love me not that hate my Gaveston, I am that Cedar, shake me not too much, And you the Eagles, soar you never so high, I have the gresses that will pull you down, And Aeque tandem shall that canker cry, Unto the proudest peer of Britanny: Though thou comparst him to a flying Fish, And threatenest death whither he rise or fallen, 'Tis not the hugest monster of the sea, Nor foulest Harpy that shall swallow him. My Gaveston, welcome to Tinmouth, welcome to thy friend, Thy absence made me droop, and pine away, For as the lovers of fair Danae, When she was locked up in a brazen tower, Desired her more, and waxed outrageous, So did it sure with me: and now thy sighed Is sweeter far, then was thy parting hence Bitter and irksome to my sobbing heart. Will none of you salute my Gaveston ? Brother do you hear them? Still will these Earls and Barrons use me thus? Return it to their throats, isle be thy warrant. Treason, treason: wheres the traitor? Look to your own heads, his is sure enough. Nay all of them conspire to cross me thus, But if I live, isle tread upon their heads, That think with high looks thus to tread me down, Come Edmund lets away, and levy men, 'Tis war that must abate these Barons pride. How now, what noise is this? Who have we there, is't you? Then ransom him. Quiet your self, you shall have the broad seal, To gather for him throughout the realm. Shall I still be haunted thus? Art thou and enemy to my Gaveston? Traitor be gone, whine thou with Mortimer. Out of my sighed, and trouble me no more. Away poor Gaveston, that hast no friend but me, Do what they can, weel live in Tinmoth here, And so I walk with him about the walls, What care I though the Earls be girded us round, Here comes she thats cause of all these jars. I, and 'tis likewise thought you favour him. Pardon me sweet, I forgotten my self. The younger Mortimer is grown so brave, That to my face he threatens civil wars. I dare not, for the people love him well. Would Lancaster and he had both carroust, A bowl of poison to each others health: But let them go, and tell me what are these. Tell me, where wast thou born? What is thine arms? The fitter art thou Baldock for my turn, Wait on me, and isle see thou shalt not want. Knowest thou him Gaveston ? Then Spencer wait upon me, for his sake I'll grace thee with a higher style ere long. 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. The headstrong Barons shall not limit me. He that I list to favour shall be great: Come lets away, and when the marriage ends, Have at the rebels, and their accomplices. Oh tell me Spencer, where is Gaveston? No, here he comes, now let them spoil and kill: Fly, fly, my lords, the earls have God the hold, Take shipping and away to Scarborough, Spencer and I will post away by land. I will not trust them, Gaveston away. Lady, farewell. Farewell sweet Gaveston, and farewell Niece. Yes, yes, for Mortimer your lovers sake. I long to hear and answer from the Barons Touching my friend, my dearest Gaveston, Ah Spencer, not the riches of my realm Can ransom him, ah he is marked to die, I know the malice of the younger Mortimer, Warwick I know is rough, and Lancaster Inexorable, and I shall never see My lovely Pierce, my Gaveston again, The Barons overbear me with their pride. Yea gentle Spencer, we have been too mild, Too kind to them, but now have drawn our sword, And if they send me not my Gaveston, Weel steel it on their crest, and powle their tops. Welcome old man, comest thou in Edwards aid? Then tell thy prince, of whence, and what thou art. Thy father Spencer? Welcome ten thousand times, old man again, Spencer, this love, this kindness to thy King, Argues thy noble mind and disposition: Spencer, I here create thee earl of Wiltshire, And daily will enrich thee with our favour, That as the sunshine shall reflect over thee: Beside, the more to manifest our love, Because we hear Lord Bruise doth fell his land, And that the Mortimers are in hand withal, Thou shalt have crowns of us, t'out bid the Barons, And Spenser, spare them not, but lay it on. Soldiers a largis, and thrice welcome all. Madam, what news? Welcome Lewne, tush Sib, if this be all, Valois and I will soon be friends again, But to my Gaveston: shall I never see, Never behold thee now? Madam in this matter We will employ you and your little son, You shall go parley with the king of France, Boy, see you bear you bravely to the king, And do your message with a majesty. Madam, we will that you with speed be shipped, And this our son, Lewne shall follow you, With all the hast we can dispatch him hence, Choose of our lords to bear you company, And go in peace, leave us in wars at home. What lord Matre. dost thou come alone? Ah traitors, have they put my friend to death, Tell me Matre. died he ere thou camest, Or didst thou see my friend to take his death? And tell me, would the rebels deny me that? Yea Spencer, traitors all. Well, and how Fortune's that he came not? Oh shall I speak, or shall I sighs and die! Admit him near. So wish not they I wis that sent thee hither, Thou comest from Mortimer and his accomplices, A ranker rout of rebels never was: Well, say thy message. Away, tarry no answer, but be gone, Rebels, will they appoint their sovereign His sports, his pleasures, and his company: Yet ere thou go, see how I do divorce Embrace Spencer. Spencer from me: now get thee to thy lords, And tell them I will come to chastise them, For murdering Gaveston : High thee, get thee gone, Edward with fire and sword, follows at thy heals, My lord, perceive you how these rebels swell: Soldiers, good hearts, defend your sovereigns right, For now, even now, we march to make them stoop, Away. Exeunt. Why do we found retreat? upon them lords, This day I shall pour vengeance with my sword On those proud rebels that are up in arms, And do confront and countermand their king. What rebels, do you shrink, and found retreat? For which ere long, their heads shall satisfy, T'appeaze the wrath of their offended king. I traitors all, rather then thus be braude, Make England's civil towns huge heaps of stones, And plows to go about our palace gates. S. George for England, and king Edwards right. Now lusty lords, now not by chance of war, But justice of the quarrel and the cause Veiled is your pride, me thinks you hang the head But weel advance them traitors, now 'tis time To be avenged on you for all your braves, And for the murder of my dearest friend, To whom right well you knew our soul was knit, Good Pierce of Gaveston my sweet fauoret, A rebels, recreants, you made him away. So sir, you have spoke, away, avoid our presence, Accursed wretches, wast in regard of us, When we had sent our messenger to request He might be spared to come to speak with us, And Pembroke undertook for his return, That thou proud Warwick watched the prisoner, Poor Pierce, and headed him against law of arms, For which thy head shall over look the rest. As much as thou in rage out wentest the rest? Away with them my lord of Winchester, These lusty leaders Warwick and Lancaster, I charge you roundly off with both their heads, away. Go take that haughty Mortimer to the tower, There see him safe bestowed, and for the rest, Do speedy execution on them all, be gone. Found drums and trumpets, march with me my friends, Edward this day hath crowned him king a new. Exit. Thus after many threats of wrathful war, Triumpheth England's Edward with his friends, And triumph Edward with his friends uncontrolled, My lord of Gloucester, do you hear the news? Why man, they say there is great execution Done through the realm, my lord of Arundel You have the note, have you not? I pray let us see it, what have we there? Read it Spencer. Spencer reads their names. Why so, they barked a pace a month a go, Now on my life, theile neither bark nor bite. Now sirs, the news from France, Gloucester I trow, The lords of France love England's gold so well, As Isabel gets no aid from thence. What now remains, have you proclaimed, my lord, Reward for them can bring in Mortimer ? If; dost thou say? Spencer, as true as death, He is in England's ground, our port-masters Are not so careless of their kings command. How now, what news with thee, from whence come these? A villains, hath that Mortimer escaped? With him is Edmund gone associate? And will sir John of Henolt led the round? Welcome a Gods name Madam and your son, England shall welcome you, and all your rout, Gallop a pace bright Phœbus through the sky, And dusky night, in rusty iron car, Between you both, shorten the time I pray, That I may see that most desired day, When we may meet these traitors in the field. Ah nothing grieves me but my little boy, Is thus misled to countenance their ils, Come friends to Bristol, there to make us strong, And winds as equal be to bring them in, As you injurious were to bear them forth. What, was I born to fly and run away, And leave the Mortimers conquerors behind? Give me my horse and lets reinforce our troops, And in this bed of honour die with fame. Mortimer, who talks of Mortimer, Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer That bloody man? good father on thy lap Lay I this head, laden with much care, Oh might I never open these eyes again, Never again lift up this drooping head, Oh never more lift up this dying heart! Oh day! the last of all my bliss on earth; Centre of all misfortune. Oh my stars! Why do you lower unkindly on a king? Comes Leister then in Isabella's name, To take my life, my company from me? Here man, rip up this panting breast of mine, And take my heart, in rescue of my friends. Spencer, a sweet Spencer, thus then must we partly. Nay so will hell, and cruel Mortimer, The gentle heavens have not to do in this. Must! 'tis somewhat hard, when kings must go. A litter hast thou, lay me in a hearse, And to the gates of hell convey me hence, Let Plutos bells ring out my fatal knell, And hags howl for my death at Charon's shore, For friends hath Edward none, but these, and these, And these must die under a tyrants sword. Well, that shall be, shall be: partly we must, Sweet Spencer, gentle Baldock, partly we must, Hence feigned weeds, unfeigned are my woes, Father, farewell: Leister, thou stayest for me, And go I must, life farewell with my friends. Leister, if gentle words might comfort me, Thy speeches long ago had eased my sorrows, For kind and loving hast thou always been: The griefs of private men are soon allayde, But not of kings, the forest Dear being struck Runs to and herb that closeth up the wounds, But when the imperial Lions flesh is gorde, He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw, Highly scorning, that the lowly earth Should drink his blood, mounts up into the air, And so it fares with me, whose dauntless mind The ambitious Mortimer would seek to curb, And that unnatural Queen false Isabel, That thus hath penned and mu'd me in a prison, For such outrageous passion cloy my soul, As with the wings of rancour and disdain, Full often am I souring up to heaven, To plain me to the gods against them both. But when I call to mind I am a king, Me thinks I should revenge me of the wrongs, That Mortimer and Isabel have done. But what are kings, when regiment is gone, But perfect shadows in a sunshine day? My nobles rule, I bear the name of king, I wear the crown, but am controlled by them, By Mortimer, and my unconstant Queen, Who spots my nuptial bed with infamy, While I am lodged within this cave of care, Where sorrow at my elbow still attends, To company my heart with sad laments, That bleeds within me for this strange exchange. But tell me, must I now resign my crown, To make usurping Mortimer a king? No, 'tis for Mortimer, not Edwards head, For he's a lamb, encompassed by Wolves, Which in a moment will abridge his life: But if proud Mortimer do wear this crown, Heavens turn it to a blaze of quenchelesse fire, Or Like the snaky wreathe of Tisiphon, Engirded the temples of his hateful head, So shall not England's Vines be perished, But Edwards name survives, though Edward die. Ah Leister, way, how hardly I can brook To lose my crown and kingdom, without cause, To give ambitious Mortimer my right, That Like a mountain overwhelms my bliss. In which extreme my mind here murdered is: But what the heavens appoint, I must obey, Here, take my crown, the life of Edward too, Two kings in England cannot reign at once: But stay a while, let me be king till night, That I may gaze upon this glittering crown, So shall my eyes receive their last content, My head, the latest honour Due to it, And jointly both yield up their wished right. Continue ever thou celestial sun, Let never silent night possess this climb, Stand still you watches of the element, All times and seasons rest you at a stay, That Edward may be still fair England's king: But days bright beams doth vanish fast away, And needs I must resign my wished crown, In human creatures, nursed with Tigers milk, Why gape you for your sovereigns overthrow? My diadem I mean, and guiltless life, See monsters see, isle wear my crown again, What, fear you not the fury of your king? But hapless Edward, thou art fondly led, They pass not for thy frowns as late they did, But seeks to make a new elected king, Which fills my mind with strange despairing thoughts, Which thoughts are martyred with endless torments. And in this torment, comfort find I none, But that I feel the crown upon my head, And therefore let me wear it yet a while. I'll not resign, but while I live, Traitors be gone, and join you with Mortimer, Elect, conspire, install, do what you will, Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries. Oh would I might, but heavens & earth conspire To make me miserable: here receive my crown, Receive it? no, these innocent hands of mine Shall not be guilty of so foul a crime, He of you all that most desires my blood, And will be called the murderer of a king, Take it: what are you mooude, pity you me? Then send for unrelenting Mortimer And Isabel, whose eyes been turned to steel, Will sooner sparkle fire then shed a tear: Yet stay, for rather then I will look on them, Here, here: now sweet God of heaven, Make me despise this transitory pomp, And fit for aye inthronized in heaven, Come death, and with thy fingers close my eyes, Or if I live, let me forget my self. Call me not lord, Away, out of my sighed, ah pardon me, Grief makes me lunatic, Let not that Mortimer protect my son, More safety is there in a Tigers jaws, This his imbrasements, bear this to the queen, Wet with my tears, and dried again with sighs, If with the sighed thereof she be not moved, Return it back and dip it in my blood, Commend me to my son, and bid him rule Better then I, yet how have I transgressed, Unless it be with too much clemency? Such news as I expect, come Bartley, come, And tell thy message to my naked breast. And who must keep me now, must you my lord? By Mortimer, whose name is written here, Well may I rend his name, that rends my heart, This poor revenge hath something eased my mind, So may his limbs be torn, as is this paper, Hear me immortal love, and grant it too. Whither you will, all places are alike, And every earth is fit for burial. Mine enemy hath pitied my estate, And thats the cause that I am now remooude. I know not, but of this am I assured, That death ends all, and I can die but once, Leicester, farewell. Friends, whither must unhappy Edward go, Will hateful Mortimer appoint no rest? Must I be vexed Like the nightly bird, Whose sighed is loathsome to all winged fowls? When will the fury of his mind assuage? When will his heart be satisfied with blood? If mine will serve, unbowel straight this breast, And give my heart to Isabel and him, It is the chiefest mark they level at. This usage makes my misery increase. But can my air of life continue long, When all my senses are avoid with stench? Within a dungeon England's king is kept, Where I am starved for want of sustenance, My daily diet, is heart breaking sobs, That almost rends the closet of my heart, Thus lives old Edward not relieved by any, And so must die, though pitied by many. Oh water gentle friends to cool my thirst, And clear my body from foul excrements. Traitors away, what will you murder me, Or choke your sovereign with puddle water? Oh gentle brother, help to rescue me. Weepest thou already, list a while to me, And then thy heart, were it as Gurneys is, Or as Matreuis, hewed from the Caucasus, Yet will it melt, ere I have done my tale, This dungeon where they keep me, is the sink, Wherein the filth of all the castle falls. And there in mire and puddle have I stood, This ten days space, and least that I should sleep, One plays continually upon a Drum, They give me bred and water being a king, So that for want of sleep and sustenance, My minds distempered, and my bodies numde, And whither I have limbs or no, I know not, Oh would my blood dropped out from every vain, As does this water from my tattered robes: Tell Isabel the Queen, I looked not thus, When for her sake I ran at tilt in France, And there vnhorste the duke of Cleremont. These looks of thine can harbour nought but death. I see my tragedy written in thy brows, Yet stay a while, forbear thy bloody hand, And let me see the stroke before it comes, That and even then when I shall loose my life, My mind may be more steadfast on my God. But that grief keeps me waking, I should sleep, For not these ten days have these eye lids closed, Now as I speak they fallen, and yet with fear Open again, Oh wherefore sits thou hear? No, no, for if thou meanest to murder me, Thou wilt return again, and therefore stay. Oh let me not die, yet stay, Oh stay a while. Something still busseth in mine ears, And tells me, if I sleep I never wake, This fear is that which makes me tremble thus, And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come? I am too weak and feeble to resist, Assist me sweet God, and receive my soul. Oh spare me, or dispatch me in a trice. Lancaster. Thanks gentle Warwick, come lets in and revel. Exeunt. Read. My duty to your honour promised, &c. I have accor ding to instructions in that behalf, dealt with the king of France his lords, and effected, that the Queen all discontented and discomforted, is gone, whither if you ask, with sir John of Henolt, brother to the Mar quesse, into Flanders: with them are gone lord Ed mund, and the lord Mortimer, having in their company diverse of your nation, and others, and as constant re port goes, they intend to give king Edward battle in England, sooner then he can look for them: this is all the news of import. Call thou them back, I have no power to speak. Farewell, I know the next news that they bring, Will be my death, and welcome shall it be, To wretched men death is felicity. The Wren may strive against the Lions strength. But all in vain, so vainly do I strive, To seek for mercy at a tyrants hand. Immortal powers, that knows the painful cares, That waits upon my poor distressed soul, Oh level all your looks upon these daring men, That wrongs their liege and sovereign, England's king, Oh Gaveston, it is for thee that I am wronged, For me, both thou, and both the Spencers died, And for your sakes, a thousand wrongs isle take, The Spencers ghosts, where ever they remain, Wish well to mine, then tush for them isle die. Whose there, what light is that, where before comes thou? Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks, Villain, I know thou comest to murder me. Forgive my thought, for having such a thought, One jewel have I left, receive thou this, Still fear I, and I know not whats the cause, But every joint shakes as I give it thee: Oh if thou harborst murder in thy heart, Let this gift change thy mind, and save thy soul, Know that I am a king, o at that name, I feel a hell of grief, where is my crown? Gone, gone, and do I remain alive? Kind words, and mutual talk, makes our grief greater. Therefore with dum embracement let us partly, Stay Gaveston I cannot leave thee thus. The time is little that thou hast to stay, And therefore give me leave to look my fill, But come sweet friend, isle bear thee on thy way. 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 crowing of these cockerels, Affright a Lion? Edward, unfold thy paws, And let their lives blood slake thy furies hunger: If I be cruel, and grow tyrannous, Now let them thank themselves, and rue too late. Father, thy face should harbour no deceit, Oh hadst thou ever been a king, thy heart Pierced deeply with sense of my distress, Could not but take compassion of my state, Stately and proud, in riches and in train, Whilom I was powerful and full of pomp, But what is he, whom rule and empery Have not in life or death made miserable? Come Spencer, come Baldock, come fit down by me, Make trial now of that philosophy, That in our famous nurseries of arts Thou suckedst from Plato, and from Aristotle. Father, this life contemplative is heaven, Oh that I might this life in quiet led, But we alas are chaste, and you my friends, Your lives and my dishonour they pursue Yet gentle monks, for treasure, gold nor fee, Do you betray us and our company. In heaven we may, in earth never shall we meet, And Leister say, what shall become of us? What means thou to dissemble with me thus? Yes more then thou canst answer though he live, Dear shall you both aby this riotous deed: Out of my presence, come not near the court.