Lan. And so will I, and then, my lord, farewell.
Y. Mor. The idle triumphs, masks, lascivious shows, And prodigal gifts bestowed on Gaveston, Have drawn thy treasury [226] dry, and made thee weak; The murmuring commons, overstretchèd, break. [227]
Lan. Look for rebellion, look to be deposed; Thy garrisons are beaten out of France,160 And, lame and poor, lie groaning at the gates. The wild Oneyl, with swarms of Irish kerns, [228] Lives uncontrolled within the English pale. Unto the walls of York the Scots make [229] road, And unresisted drive [230] away rich spoils.
Y. Mor. The haughty Dane commands the narrow seas,[231] While in the harbour ride thy ships unrigged.
Lan. What foreign prince sends thee ambassadors?
Y. Mor. Who loves thee, but a sort of flatterers?
Lan. Thy gentle queen, sole sister to Valois,170 Complains that thou hast left her all forlorn.
Y. Mor. Thy court is naked, being bereft of those That make a king seem glorious to the world; I mean the peers, whom thou should'st dearly love: Libels are cast again [232] thee in the street: Ballads and rhymes made of thy overthrow.
Lan. The Northern borderers seeing their houses burnt, Their wives and children slain, run up and down, Cursing the name of thee and Gaveston.
Y. Mor. When wert thou in the field with banner spread,180 But once? and then thy soldiers marched like players, With garish robes, not armour; and thyself, Bedaubed with gold, rode laughing at the rest, Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest, Where women's favours hung like labels down.