ell of Gaveston!
_Lan._ None be so hardy as to touch the king;
But neither spare you Gaveston nor his friends. [_Exeunt._

_Enter, severally_ KING EDWARD _and the younger_
SPENSER.

_K. Edw._ O, tell me, Spenser, where is Gaveston?
_Y. Spen._ I fear me he is slain, my gracious lord.
_K. Edw._ No, here he comes; now let them spoil and kill.

_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA, KING EDWARD'S Niece,
GAVESTON, _and_ Nobles.

Fly, fly, my lords; the earls have got the hold;
Take shipping, and away to Scarborough:
Spenser and I will post away by land.
_Gav._ O, stay, my lord! they will not injure you.
_K. Edw._ I will not trust them. Gaveston, away!
_Gav._ Farewell, my lord.
_K. Edw._ Lady, farewell.
_Niece._ Farewell, sweet uncle, till we meet again.
_K. Edw._ Farewell, sweet Gaveston; and farewell, niece.
_Q. Isab._ No farewell to poor Isabel thy queen?
_K. Edw._ Yes, yes, for Mortimer your lover's sake.
_Q. Isab._ Heavens can witness, I love none but you.
[_Exeunt all except Queen Isabella._
From my embracements thus he breaks away.
O, that mine arms could close this isle about,
That I might pull him to me where I would!
Or that these tears, that drizzle from mine eyes,
Had power to mollify his stony heart,
That, when I had him, we might never part!

_Enter_ LANCASTER, WARWICK, _the younger_ MORTIMER, _and
others. Alarums within._

_Lan._ I wonder how he scap'd.
_Y. Mor._ Who's this? the queen!
_Q. Isab._ Ay, Mortimer, the miserable queen,
Whose pining heart her inward sighs have blasted,
And body with continual mourning wasted:
These hands are tir'd with haling of my lord
From Gaveston, from wicked Gaveston;
And all in vain; for, when I speak him fair,
He turns away, and smiles upon his minion.
_Y. Mor._ Cease to lament, and tell us where's the king?
_Q. Isab._ What would you with the king? is't him you seek?
_Lan._ No, madam, but that cursed Gaveston:
Far be it from the thought of Lancaster
To offer violence to his sovereign!
We would but rid the realm of Gaveston:
Tell us where he remains, and he shall die.
_Q. Isab._ He's gone by water unto Scarborough:
Pursue him quickly, and he cannot scape;
The king hath left him, and his train is small.
_War._ Forslow no time, sweet Lancaster; let's march.
_Y. Mor._ How comes it that the king an