_Y. Mor._ Then may we lawfully revolt from him.
_War._ But say, my lord, where shall this meeting be?
[_Archbish._] And, in the meantime, I'll entreat you all To cross to Lambeth, and there stay with me.
_Queen_. Farewell, sweet Mortimer; and, for my sake, Forbear to levy arms against the king.
_Y. Mor_. I, if words will serve; if not, I must. [_Exeunt._
_Enter[188]_ GAVESTON _and the_ EARL _of_ KENT.
_Gav._ Edmund, the mighty prince of Lancaster, That hath more earldoms than an ass can bear, And both the Mortimers, two goodly men, With Guy of Warwick, that redoubted knight, Are gone toward Lambeth--there let them remain. [_Exeunt._
_Enter[189]_ NOBLES _and the_ ARCHBISHOP _of_ CANTERBURY.
_Lan._ Here is the form of Gaveston's exile: May it please your lordship to subscribe your name.
_Archbish._ Give me the paper. [_He subscribes, as the others do after him._
_Lan._ Quick, quick, my lord; I long to write my name.
_War._ But I long more to see him banished hence.
_Y. Mor._ The name of Mortimer shall fright the king, Unless he be declined from that base peasant.
_Edw._ What, are you moved that Gaveston sits here? It is our pleasure, and we will have it so.
_Lan._ Your grace doth well to place him by your side, 10 For nowhere else the new earl is so safe.
_E. Mor._ What man of noble birth can brook this sight? _Quam male conveniunt!_[190] See what a scornful look the peasant casts!
_Pem._ Can kingly lions fawn on creeping ants?
_War._ Ignoble vassal, that like Phaeton Aspir'st unto the guidance of the sun.
_Y. Mor._ Their downfall is at hand, their forces down: We will not thus be faced and over-peered.
_Edw._ Lay hands on[191] that traitor Mortimer! 20
_E. Mor._ Lay hands on that traitor Gaveston!
_Kent._ Is this the duty that you owe your king?
_War._ We know our duties--let him know his peers.
_Edw._ Whither will you bear him? Stay, or ye shall die.
_E. Mor._ We are no traitors; therefore threaten not.
_Gav._ No, threaten not, my lord, but pay them home! Were I a king----
_Y. Mor._ Thou villain, wherefore talk'st thou of a king, That hardly art a gentleman by birth?
_Edw._ Were he a peasant, being my minion, 30 I'll make the proudest of you stoop to him.
_Lan._ My lord, you may not thus disparage us. Away, I say, with hateful Gaveston.