wish thee reconcile the lords,
Or thou shalt ne'er be reconcil'd to me.
_Q. Isab._ Your highness knows, it lies not in my power.
_K. Edw._ Away, then! touch me not.--Come, Gaveston.
_Q. Isab._ Villain, 'tis thou that robb'st me of my lord.
_Gav._ Madam, 'tis you that rob me of my lord.
_K. Edw._ Speak not unto her: let her droop and pine.
_Q. Isab._ Wherein, my lord, have I deserv'd these words?
Witness the tears that Isabella sheds,
Witness this heart, that, sighing for thee, breaks,
How dear my lord is to poor Isabel!
_K. Edw._ And witness heaven how dear thou art to me:
There weep; for, till my Gaveston be repeal'd,
Assure thyself thou com'st not in my sight.
[_Exeunt King Edward and Gaveston._
_Q. Isab._ O miserable and distressed queen!
Would, when I left sweet France, and was embarked,
That charming Circe, walking on the waves,
Had chang'd my shape! or at the marriage-day
The cup of Hymen had been full of poison!
Or with those arms, that twin'd about my neck,
I had been stifled, and not liv'd 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 doted Jove on Ganymede
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 dote on Gaveston;
And so am I for ever miserable.

_Re-enter_ LANCASTER, WARWICK, PEMBROKE, _the elder_
MORTIMER, _and the younger_ MORTIMER.

_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-treated her.
_Pem._ Hard is the heart that injures such a saint.
_Y. Mor._ I know 'tis 'long of Gaveston she weeps.
_E. Mor._ Why, he is gone.
_Y. Mor._ Madam, how fares your grace?
_Q. Isab._ 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.
_Q. Isab._ No, rather will I die a thousand deaths:
And yet I love in vain; he'll ne'er love me.
_Lan._ Fear ye not, madam; now his minion's gone,
His wanton humour will be quickly left.
_Q. Isab._ O, never, Lancaster! I am enjoin'd,
To sue unto you all for his repeal:
This wills my lord, and this must I perform,
Or else be banish'd from his hig