War. All that he speaks is nothing, we are resolved.
Y. Mor. Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead?
Pem. I would he were.
Y. Mor. Why then, my lord, give me but leave to speak
E. Mor. But, nephew, do not play the sophister.
Y. Mor. This which I urge is of a burning zeal To mend the king, and do our country good, Know you not Gaveston hath store of gold, Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends, As he will front the mightiest of us all?260 And whereas he shall live and be beloved, 'Tis hard for us to work his overthrow.
War. Mark you but that, my lord of Lancaster.
Y. Mor. But were he here, detested as he is, How easily might some base slave be suborned To greet his lordship with a poniard, And none so much as blame the murderer, But rather praise him for that brave attempt, And in the chronicle enrol his name For purging of the realm of such a plague?270
Pem. He saith true.
Lan. I, but how chance this was not done before?