Unlesse his brest be sword proofe he shall dye.
Mor.se.
How now, why droopes the Earle of Lancaster?
Mor.ju.
Wherefore is Guy of Warwick discontent?
Lan.
That Villaine Gaveston is made an Earle.
Mor.se.
An Earle!
War.
I, and besides Lord Chamberlaine of the realme,
And Secretary to, and Lord of Man.
Mor.se.
We may not nor we will not suffer this,
Mor.ju.
Why post we not from hence to levie men?
Lan.
My Lord of Cornewall now at every word,
And happy is the man, whom he vouchsafes
For vailing of his bonnet one good looke,
Thus arme in arme, the King and he doth march:
Nay more, the Guard upon his Lordship waites:
And all the Court begins to flatter him.
War.
Thus leaning on the shoulder of the King,
He nods, and scornes, and smiles at those that passe.
Mor.se.
Doth no man take exceptions at the slave?
Lan.
All stomack him, but none dare speake a word.
Mor.ju.
Ah that bewrayes their basenesse Lancaster,
Were all the Earles and Barons of my mind,
Weele hale him from the bosome of the King,
And at the Court gate hang the Pesant up,
Who swolne with venome of ambitious pride,
Will be the ruine of the realme and us.
Enter the Bishop of Canterbury.
Heere comes my Lord of Canterburies Grace.
Lan.
His countenance bewrayes he is displeas'd.
Bish.
First were his sacred garments rent and torne,
Then laid they violent hands upon him next,
Himselfe imprisoned, and his goods asceas'd,
This certifie the Pope, away take horse.
Lan.
My Lord, will you take armes against the King?
Bish.
What neede I, God himselfe is up in armes,
When violence is offered to the Church.
Mor.ju.
Then will you joyne with us that be his Peeres
To banish or behead that Gaveston?
Bish.
What else my Lords, for it concernes me neere,
The
