Queen. O miserable and distressèd queen!170 Would, when I left sweet France and was embarked, That charming Circe [202] walking on the waves, Had changed my shape, or at [203] the marriage-day The cup of Hymen had been full of poison, Or with those arms that twined about my neck I had been stifled, and not lived to see The king my lord thus to abandon me! Like frantic Juno will I fill the earth With ghastly murmur of my sighs and cries; For never doated Jove on Ganymede180 So much as he on cursed Gaveston: But that will more exasperate his wrath: I must entreat him, I must speak him fair, And be a means to call home Gaveston: And yet he'll ever doat on Gaveston: And so am I for ever miserable.
Enter the Nobles.
Lan. Look where the sister of the king of France Sits wringing of her hands, and beats her breast!
War. The king, I fear, hath ill-entreated her.
Pem. Hard is the heart that injuries [204] such a saint.190
Y. Mor. I know 'tis 'long of Gavestone she weeps.
E. Mor. Why, he is gone.
Y. Mor. Madam, how fares your grace?
Queen. Ah, Mortimer! now breaks the king's hate forth, And he confesseth that he loves me not.
Y. Mor. Cry quittance, madam, then; and love not him.