SCENE I.
Enter [163] Gaveston, reading a letter from the King.
Gav. My father is deceased! Come, Gaveston, And share the kingdom with thy dearest friend. Ah! words that make me surfeit with delight! What greater bliss can hap to Gaveston Than live and be the favourite of a king! Sweet prince, I come; these, these thy amorous lines Might have enforced me to have swum from France, And, like Leander, gasped upon the sand, So thou would'st smile, and take me in thine arms. The sight of London to my exiled eyes10 Is as Elysium to a new-come soul; Not that I love the city, or the men, But that it harbours him I hold so dear— The king, upon whose bosom let me die, [164] And with the world be still at enmity. What need the arctic people love starlight, To whom the sun shines both by day and night? Farewell base stooping to the lordly peers! My knee shall bow to none but to the king. As for the multitude, that are but sparks,20 Raked up in embers of their poverty;— Tanti; [165] I'll fawn [166] first on the wind That glanceth at my lips, and flieth away. But how now, what are these?
Enter three poor Men.
Men. Such as desire your worship's service.
Gav. What canst thou do?
1 Man. I can ride.
Gav. But I have no horse. What art thou?
2 Man. A traveller.
Gav. Let me see—thou would'st do well To wait at my trencher and tell me lies at dinner-time;30 And as I like your discoursing, I'll have you. And what art thou?