Act Two, Scene Four[Alarums.] Enter [at several doors] the King and Spencer, to them Gaveston, &c. [the Queene, Neece, lords].
O tell me Spencer, where is Gaveston?
I feare me he is slaine my gratious lord.
No, here he comes, now let them spoile and kill:
Flie, flie, my lords, the earles have got the holde,
Take shipping and away to Scarborough,
Spencer and I will post away by land.
O stay my lord, they will not injure you.
I will not trust them, Gaveston away.
Farewell my Lord.
Farewell sweete unckle till we meete againe.
Farewell sweete Gaveston, and farewell Neece.
No farewell, to poore Isabell, thy Queene?
Yes, yes, for Mortimer your lovers sake.
Exeunt omnes, manet Isabella.
Heavens can witnesse, I love none but you.
From my imbracements thus he breakes away,
O that mine armes could close this Ile about,
That I might pull him to me where I would,
Or that these teares that drissell from mine eyes,
Had power to mollifie his stonie hart,
That when I had him we might never part.
Enter the Barons, alarums.
I wonder how he scapt.
Whose this, the Queene?
I Mortimer, the miserable Queene,
Whose pining heart, her inward sighes have blasted,
And body with continuall moorning wasted:
These hands are tir'd, with haling of my lord
From Gaveston, from wicked Gaveston,
And all in vaine, for when I speake him faire,
He turnes away, and smiles upon his minion.
Cease to lament, and tell us wheres the king?
What would you with the king, ist him you seek?
No madam, but that cursed Gaveston.
Farre be it from the thought of Lancaster,
To offer violence to his soveraigne,
We would but rid the realme of Gaveston,
Tell us where he remaines, and he shall die.
Hees gone by water unto Scarborough,
Pursue him quicklie, and he cannot scape,
The king hath left him, and his traine is small.
Forslowe no time, sweet Lancaster lets march.
How comes it, that the king and he is parted ?
That this your armie going severall waies,
Might be of lesser force, and with the power
That he intendeth presentlie to raise,
Be easilie supprest: and therefore be gone.
Heere in the river rides a Flemish hoie,
Lets all aboord, and follow him amaine.
The wind that bears him hence, wil fil our sailes,
Come, come aboord, tis but an houres sailing.
Madam, stay you within this castell here.
No Mortimer, ile to my lord the king.
Nay, rather saile with us to Scarborough.
You know the king is so suspitious,
As if he heare I have but talkt with you,
Mine honour will be cald in question,
And therefore gentle Mortimer be gone.
Madam, I cannot stay to answer you,
But thinke of Mortimer as he deserves.
So well hast thou deserv'de sweete Mortimer,
As Isabell could live with thee for ever,
In vaine I looke for love at Edwards hand,
Whose eyes are fixt on none but Gaveston:
Yet once more ile importune him with praiers,
If he be straunge and not regarde my wordes,
My sonne and I will over into France,
And to the king my brother there complaine,
How Gaveston hath robd me of his love:
But yet I hope my sorrowes will have end,
And Gaveston this blessed day be slaine.