Enter Queen Isabella.
Y. Mor. Madam, whither walks your majesty so fast?
Queen. Unto the forest, [187] gentle Mortimer, To live in grief and baleful discontent; For now, my lord, the king regards me not, But doats upon the love of Gaveston.50 He claps his cheek, and hangs about his neck, Smiles in his face, and whispers in his ears; And when I come he frowns, as who should say, "Go whither thou wilt, seeing I have Gaveston."
E. Mor. Is it not strange, that he is thus bewitched?
Y. Mor. Madam, return unto the court again: That sly inveigling Frenchman we'll exile, Or lose our lives; and yet ere that day come The king shall lose his crown; for we have power, And courage too, to be revenged at full.60
Archbish. But yet lift not your swords against the king.
Lan. No; but we will lift Gaveston from hence.
War. And war must be the means, or he'll stay still.
Queen. Then let him stay; for rather than my lord Shall be oppressed with civil mutinies, I will endure a melancholy life, And let him frolic with his minion.
Archbish. My lords, to ease all this, but hear me speak:— We and the rest, that are his counsellors, Will meet, and with a general consent70 Confirm his banishment with our hands and seals.