Y. Spen. Were I King Edward, England's sovereign,10 Son to the lovely Eleanor of Spain, Great Edward Longshanks' issue, would I bear These braves, [260] this rage, and suffer uncontrolled These barons thus to beard me in my land, In mine own realm? My lord, pardon my speech, Did you retain your father's magnanimity, Did you regard the honour of your name, You would not suffer thus your majesty Be counterbuft of your nobility. Strike off their heads, and let them preach on poles!20 No doubt, such lessons they will teach the rest, As by their preachments they will profit much, And learn obedience to their lawful king.
Edw. Yea, gentle Spencer, we have been too mild, Too kind to them; but now have drawn our sword, And if they send me not my Gaveston, We'll steel it on their crest, and poll their tops.
Bald. This haught [261] resolve becomes your majesty Not to be tied to their affection, As though your highness were a schoolboy still,30 And must be awed and governed like a child.
Enter Hugh Spencer, father to the Young Spencer, with his truncheon and Soldiers.
O. Spen. Long live my sovereign, the noble Edward— In peace triumphant, fortunate in wars!
Edw. Welcome, old man, com'st thou in Edward's aid? Then tell thy [262] prince of whence, and what thou art.
O. Spen. Lo, with a band of bowmen and of pikes, Brown bills and targeteers, four hundred strong, Sworn to defend King Edward's royal right, I come in person to your majesty, Spencer, the father of Hugh Spencer there,40 Bound to your highness everlastingly, For favour done, in him, unto us all.
Edw. Thy father, Spencer?
Y. Spen. True, an it like your grace, That pours, in lieu of all your goodness shown, His life, my lord, before your princely feet.
Edw. Welcome ten thousand times, old man, again. Spencer, this love, this kindness to thy king, Argues thy noble mind and disposition. Spencer, I here create thee Earl of Wiltshire, And daily will enrich thee with our favour,50 That, as the sunshine, shall reflect o'er thee. Beside, the more to manifest our love, Because we hear Lord Bruce doth sell his land, And that the Mortimers are in hand withal, Thou shalt have crowns of us t'outbid the barons And, Spencer, spare them not, lay it on. Soldiers, a largess, and thrice welcome all!