d he is parted?
_Q. Isab._ That thus your army, going several ways,
Might be of lesser force, and with the power
That he intendeth presently to raise,
Be easily suppress'd: therefore be gone.
_Y. Mor._ Here in the river rides a Flemish hoy:
Let's all aboard, and follow him amain.
_Lan._ The wind that bears him hence will fill our sails;
Come, come, aboard! 'tis but an hour's sailing.
_Y. Mor._ Madam, stay you within this castle here.
_Q. Isab._ No, Mortimer; I'll to my lord the king.
_Y. Mor._ Nay, rather sail with us to Scarborough.
_Q. Isab._ You know the king is so suspicious
As, if he hear I have but talk'd with you,
Mine honour will be call'd in question;
And therefore, gentle Mortimer, be gone.
_Y. Mor._ Madam, I cannot stay to answer you:
But think of Mortimer as he deserves.
[_Exeunt all except Queen Isabella._
_Q. Isab._ So well hast thou deserv'd, sweet Mortimer,
As Isabel could live with thee for ever.
In vain I look for love at Edward's hand,
Whose eyes are fix'd on none but Gaveston.
Yet once more I'll importune him with prayer:
If he be strange, and not regard my words,
My son and I will over into France,
And to the king my brother there complain
How Gaveston hath robb'd me of his love:
But yet, I hope, my sorrows will have end,
And Gaveston this blessed day be slain. [_Exit._

_Enter_ GAVESTON, _pursued._

_Gav._ Yet, lusty lords, I have escap'd your hands,
Your threats, your 'larums, and your hot pursuits;
And, though divorced from King Edward's eyes,
Yet liveth Pierce of Gaveston unsurpris'd,
Breathing in hope (malgrado all your beards,
That muster rebels thus against your king)
To see his royal sovereign once again.

_Enter_ WARWICK, LANCASTER, PEMBROKE, _the younger_
MORTIMER, Soldiers, JAMES _and other_ Attendants _of_
PENBROKE.

_War._ Upon him, soldiers! take away his weapons!
_Y. Mor._ Thou proud disturber of thy country's peace,
Corrupter of thy king, cause of these broils,
Base flatterer, yield! and, were it not for shame,
Shame and dishonour to a soldier's name,
Upon my weapon's point here shouldst thou fall,
And welter in thy gore.
_Lan._ Monster of men,
That, like the Greekish strumpet, train'd to arms
And bloody wars so many valiant knights,
Look for no other fortune, wretch, than death!