Spenser,
Seeing that our lord the Earl of Gloucester’s dead,
Which of the nobles dost thou mean to serve?

Not Mortimer, nor any of his side,
Because the king and he are enemies.
Baldock, learn this of me: a factious lord
Shall hardly do himself good, much less us;
But he that hath the favour of a king
May with one word advance us while we live.
The liberal Earl of Cornwall is the man
On whose good fortune Spenser’s hope depends.

No, his companion; for he loves me well,
And would have once preferred me to the king.

Ay, for a while; but, Baldock, mark the end.
A friend of mine told me in secrecy
That he’s repealed and sent for back again;
And even now a post came from the court
With letters to our lady from the king;
And, as she read, she smiled; which makes me think
It is about her lover Gaveston.

’Tis like enough; for, since he was exiled,
She neither walks abroad nor comes in sight.
But I had thought the match had been broke off,
And that his banishment had changed her mind.

Our lady’s first love is not wavering;
My life for thine, she will have Gaveston.

Then hope I by her means to be preferred,
Having read unto her since she was a child.

Then, Baldock, you must cast the scholar off,
And learn to court it like a gentleman.
’Tis not a black coat and a little band,
A velvet-caped cloak, faced before with serge,
And smelling to a nosegay all the day,
Or holding of a napkin in your hand,
Or saying a long grace at a table’s end,
Or making low legs to a nobleman,
Or looking downward, with your eyelids close,
And saying, “Truly, an’t may please your honour,”
Can get you any favour with great men:
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute,
And now and then stab, as occasion serves.

Spenser, thou know’st I hate such formal toys,
And use them but of mere hypocrisy.
Mine old lord, whiles he lived, was so precise,
That he would take exceptions at my buttons,
And, being like pins’ heads, blame me for the bigness;
Which made me curate-like in mine attire,
Though inwardly licentious enough,
And apt for any kind of villainy.
I am none of these common pedants, I,
That cannot speak without propterea quod.

But one of those that saith quando-quidem,
And hath a special gift to form a verb.

The grief for his exile was not so much
As is the joy of his returning home.
This letter came from my sweet Gaveston:
What need’st thou, love, thus to excuse thyself?
I know thou couldst not come and visit me. Reads.
“I will not long be from thee, though I die.”
This argues the entire love of my lord;⁠—Reads.
“When I forsake thee, death seize on my heart”:
But stay thee here where Gaveston shall sleep. Puts the letter into her bosom.
Now to the letter of my lord the king:
He wills me to repair unto the court,
And meet my Gaveston: why do I stay,
Seeing that he talks thus of my marriage day?⁠—
Who’s there? Baldock!
See that my coach be ready; I must hence.

Spenser, stay you, and bear me company,
For I have joyful news to tell thee of;
My lord of Cornwall is a-coming over,
And will be at the court as soon as we.

If all things sort out, as I hope they will,
Thy service, Spenser, shall be thought upon.

The wind is good; I wonder why he stays:
I fear me he is wrecked upon the sea.

Look, Lancaster, how passionate he is,
And still his mind runs on his minion!

Nothing but Gaveston! what means your grace?
You have matters of more weight to think upon:
The King of France sets foot in Normandy.

A trifle! we’ll expel him when we please.
But tell me, Mortimer, what’s thy device
Against the stately triumph we decreed?

But, seeing you are so desirous, thus it is;
A lofty cedar tree, fair flourishing,
On whose top branches kingly eagles perch,
And by the bark a canker creeps me up,
And gets unto the highest bough of all;
The motto, Aeque tandem.

My lord, mine’s more obscure than Mortimer’s.
Pliny reports there is a flying-fish
Which all the other fishes deadly hate,
And therefore, being pursued, it takes the air:
No sooner is it up, but there’s a fowl
That seizeth it: this fish, my lord, I bear;
The motto this, Undique mors est.

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 libelling
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 ye ne’er so high,
I have the jesses that will pull you down;
And Aeque tandem shall that canker cry
Unto the proudest peer of Britainy.
Thou that compar’st him to a flying-fish,
And threaten’st death whether he rise or fall,
’Tis not the hugest monster of the sea,
Nor foulest harpy, that shall swallow him.

If in his absence thus he favours him,
What will he do whenas he shall be present?

My Gaveston!
Welcome to Tynmouth! 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 fare with me: and now thy sight
Is sweeter far than was thy parting hence
Bitter and irksome to my sobbing heart.

Sweet lord and king, your speech preventeth mine;
Yet have I words left to express my joy:
The shepherd, nipt with biting winter’s rage,
Frolics not more to see the painted spring
Than I do to behold your majesty.

Base, leaden earls, that glory in your birth,
Go sit at home, and eat your tenants’ beef;
And come not here to scoff at Gaveston,
Whose mounting thoughts did never creep so low
As to bestow a look on such as you.

Yes, more than thou canst answer, though he live:
Dear shall you both abide this riotous deed:
Out of my presence! come not near the court.

Nay, all of them conspire to cross me thus:
But, if I live, I’ll tread upon their heads
That think with high looks thus to tread me down.
Come, Edmund, let’s away, and levy men:
’Tis war that must abate these barons’ pride.

Cousin, it is no dealing with him now;
He means to make us stoop by force of arms:
And therefore let us jointly here protest
To prosecute that Gaveston to the death.

And so doth Lancaster.
Now send our heralds to defy the king;
And make the people swear to put him down.

They rate his ransom at five thousand pound.
Who should defray the money but the king,
Seeing he is taken prisoner in his wars?
I’ll to the king.

Meantime my Lord of Pembroke and myself
Will to Newcastle here, and gather head.

Cousin, an if he will not ransom him,
I’ll thunder such a peal into his ears
As never subject did unto his king.

Content; I’ll bear my part.⁠—Hollo! who’s there?

How now!
What noise is this? who have we here? is’t you? Going.

Nay, stay, my lord; I come to bring you news;
Mine uncle’s taken prisoner by the Scots.

Quiet yourself; you shall have the broad seal,
To gather for him throughout the realm.

My lord, the family of the Mortimers
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!

My lords, of love to this our native land,
I come to join with you, and leave the king;
And in your quarrel, and the realm’s behoof,
Will be the first that shall adventure life.

I fear me, you are sent of policy,
To undermine us with a show of love.

He is your brother; therefore have we cause
To cast the worst, and doubt of your revolt.

Mine honour shall be hostage of my truth:
If that will not suffice, farewell, my lords.

Stay, Edmund: never was Plantagenet
False of his word; and therefore trust we thee.

And it sufficeth. Now, my lords, know this,
That Gaveston is secretly arrived,
And here in Tynmouth frolics with the king.
Let us with these our followers scale the walls,
And suddenly surprise them unawares.

This tattered ensign of my ancestors,
Which swept the desert shore of that Dead Sea
Whereof we got the name of Mortimer,
Will I advance upon this castle’s walls⁠—
Drums, strike alarum, raise them from their sport,
And ring aloud the knell of Gaveston!

None be so hardy as to touch the king;
But neither spare you Gaveston nor his friends.

Fly, fly, my lords; the earls have got the hold;
Take shipping, and away to Scarborough:
Spenser and I will post away by land.

From my embracements thus he breaks away.
O, that mine arms could close this isle about,
That I might pull him to me where I would!
Or that these tears, that drizzle from mine eyes,
Had power to mollify his stony heart,
That, when I had him, we might never part!

Ay, Mortimer, the miserable queen,
Whose pining heart her inward sighs have blasted,
And body with continual mourning wasted:
These hands are tired with haling of my lord
From Gaveston, from wicked Gaveston;
And all in vain; for, when I speak him fair,
He turns away, and smiles upon his minion.

No, madam, but that cursed Gaveston:
Far be it from the thought of Lancaster
To offer violence to his sovereign!
We would but rid the realm of Gaveston:
Tell us where he remains, and he shall die.

He’s gone by water unto Scarborough:
Pursue him quickly, and he cannot scape;
The king hath left him, and his train is small.

That thus your army, going several ways,
Might be of lesser force, and with the power
That he intendeth presently to raise,
Be easily suppressed: therefore be gone.

Here in the river rides a Flemish hoy:
Let’s all aboard, and follow him amain.

The wind that bears him hence will fill our sails;
Come, come, aboard! ’tis but an hour’s sailing.

You know the king is so suspicious
As, if he hear I have but talked with you,
Mine honour will be called in question;
And therefore, gentle Mortimer, be gone.

Madam, I cannot stay to answer you:
But think of Mortimer as he deserves.

So well hast thou deserved, sweet Mortimer,
As Isabel could live with thee forever.
In vain I look for love at Edward’s hand,
Whose eyes are fixed on none but Gaveston.
Yet once more I’ll importune him with prayer:
If he be strange, and not regard my words,
My son and I will over into France,
And to the king my brother there complain
How Gaveston hath robbed me of his love:
But yet, I hope, my sorrows will have end,
And Gaveston this blessed day be slain. Exit.

Yet, lusty lords, I have escaped your hands,
Your threats, your ’larums, and your hot pursuits;
And, though divorced from King Edward’s eyes,
Yet liveth Pierce of Gaveston unsurprised,
Breathing in hope (malgrado all your beards,
That muster rebels thus against your king)
To see his royal sovereign once again.

Thou proud disturber of thy country’s peace,
Corrupter of thy king, cause of these broils,
Base flatterer, yield! and, were it not for shame,
Shame and dishonour to a soldier’s name,
Upon my weapon’s point here shouldst thou fall,
And welter in thy gore.

Monster of men,
That, like the Greekish strumpet, trained to arms
And bloody wars so many valiant knights,
Look for no other fortune, wretch, than death!
King Edward is not here to buckler thee.

Lancaster, why talk’st thou to the slave?⁠—
Go, soldiers, take him hence; for, by my sword,
His head shall off.⁠—Gaveston, short warning
Shall serve thy turn: it is our country’s cause
That here severely we will execute
Upon thy person.⁠—Hang him at a bough.

Soldiers, have him away.⁠—
But, for thou wert the favourite of a king,
Thou shalt have so much honour at our hands.

I thank you all, my lords: then I perceive
That heading is one, and hanging is the other,
And death is all.

His majesty, hearing that you had taken Gaveston,
Entreateth you by me, yet but he may
See him before he dies; for why, he says,
And sends you word, he knows that die he shall;
And, if you gratify his grace so far,
He will be mindful of the courtesy.

Renowned Edward, how thy name
Revives poor Gaveston!

No, it needeth not:
Arundel, we will gratify the king
In other matters; he must pardon us in this.⁠—
Soldiers, away with him!

Why, my Lord of Warwick,
Will now these short delays beget my hopes?
I know it, lords, it is life you aim at,
Yet grant King Edward this.

Shalt thou appoint
What we shall grant?⁠—Soldiers, away with him!⁠—
Thus we’ll gratify the king;
We’ll send his head by thee; let him bestow
His tears on that, for that is all he gets
Of Gaveston, or else his senseless trunk.

Not so, my lord, lest he bestow more cost
In burying him than he hath ever earned.

My lords, it is his majesty’s request,
And in the honour of a king he swears,
He will but talk with him, and send him back.

When, can you tell? Arundel, no; we wot
He that the care of his realm remits,
And drives his nobles to these exigents
For Gaveston, will, if he seize him once,
Violate any promise to possess him.

Then, if you will not trust his grace in keep,
My lords, I will be pledge for his return.

’Tis honourable in thee to offer this;
But, for we know thou art a noble gentleman,
We will not wrong thee so,
To make away a true man for a thief.

Away, base groom, robber of king’s renown!
Question with thy companions and mates.

My Lord Mortimer, and you, my lords, each one,
To gratify the king’s request therein,
Touching the sending of this Gaveston,
Because his majesty so earnestly
Desires to see the man before his death,
I will upon mine honour undertake
To carry him, and bring him back again;
Provided this, that you, my Lord of Arundel,
Will join with me.

Pembroke, what wilt thou do?
Cause yet more bloodshed? is it not enough
That we have taken him, but must we now
Leave him on “Had I wist,” and let him go?

My lords, I will not over-woo your honours:
But, if you dare trust Pembroke with the prisoner,
Upon mine oath, I will return him back.

Sweet sovereign, yet I come
To see thee ere I die!

Aside. Yet not perhaps,
If Warwick’s wit and policy prevail.

My Lord of Pembroke, we deliver him you:
Return him on your honour.⁠—Sound, away!

My lord, you shall go with me:
My house is not far hence; out of the way
A little; but our men shall go along.
We that have pretty wenches to our wives,
Sir, must not come so near to balk their lips.

’Tis very kindly spoke, my Lord of Pembroke:
Your honour hath an adamant of power
To draw a prince.

So, my lord.⁠—Come hither, James:
I do commit this Gaveston to thee;
Be thou this night his keeper; in the morning
We will discharge thee of thy charge: be gone.