My Lord, you shall be Chancelour of the Realme.
Thou Lancaster, high Admirall of our Fleete,
Yong Mortimer and his Unkle shall be Earles,
And you Lord Warwicke, President of the North,
And thou of Wales, if this content you not,
Make severall Kingdomes of this Monarchy,
And share it equally amongst you all,
So I may have some nooke or corner left,
To frolike with my deerest Gaveston.
Bish.
Nothing shall alter us, we are resolv'd.
Lan.
Come, come, subscribe.
Mor.ju.
Why should you love him,
Whom the world hates so?
Edw.
Because he loves me more then all the world:
Ah none but rude and savage minded men,
Would seeke the ruine of my Gaveston,
You that are noble borne should pitty him.
War.
You that are princely borne should shake him off.
For shame subscribe, and let the Lowne depart.
Mor.se.
Urge him my Lord.
Bish.
Are you content to banish him the Realme?
Edw.
I see I must, and therefore am content,
In stead of Inke ile write it with my teares.
Mor.ju.
The King is love-sicke for his Minion.
Edw.
Tis done, and now accursed hand fall off.
Lan.
Give it me, Ile have it published in the streetes,
Mor.ju.
Ile see him presently dispatched away.
Bish.
Now is my heart at ease.
War.
And so is mine.
Penb.
This will be good newes to the common sort.
Mor.se.
Be it or no, he shall not linger heere. Exeunt Nobles.
Edw.
How fast they run to banish him I love,
They would not stirre, were it to do me good:
Why should a King be subject to a Priest?
Proud Rome, that hatchest such imperiall groomes,
For these thy superstitious taper-lights,
Wherewith thy Antichristian Churches blaze,
Ile
