In seas of blood, this wretched land to drowne.
46.
In midst of these extreames with griefe cast downe,
The measure of our miserie to fill,
My stubborne peers take armes, and proudly frowne,
Threatning in rage that little left to spill,
If basely I submit not to their will:
And exile those, whom they themselues did place
In stead of Gaueston t’attend our grace.
47.