_Y. Mor._ Look, Lancaster, yonder is Edward Among his flatterers. _Lan._And there let him be, Till he pay dearly for their company. _War._ And shall, or Warwick's sword shall smite in vain. _K. Edw._ What, rebels, do you shrink and sound retreat? _Y. Mor._ No, Edward, no; thy flatterers faint and fly. _Lan._ They'd best betimes forsake thee and their trains, For they'll betray thee, traitors as they are. _Y. Spen._ Traitor on thy face, rebellious Lancaster! _Pem._ Away, base upstart! brav'st thou nobles thus? _E. Spen._ A noble attempt and honourable deed, Is it not, trow ye, to assemble aid And levy arms against your lawful king? _K. Edw._ For which, ere long, their heads shall satisfy T' appease the wrath of their offended king. _Y. Mor._ Then, Edward, thou wilt fight it to the last, And rather bathe thy sword in subjects' blood Than banish that pernicious company? _K. Edw._ Ay, traitors all, rather than thus be brav'd, Make England's civil towns huge heaps of stones, And ploughs to go about our palace-gates. _War._ A desperate and unnatural resolution!-- Alarum to the fight! Saint George for England, and the barons' right! _K. Edw._ Saint George for England, and King Edward's right! [_Alarums. Exeunt the two parties severally._ _Enter_ KING EDWARD _and his followers, with the_ Barons _and_ KENT _captive._ _K. Edw._ Now, lusty lords, now not by chance of war, But justice of the quarrel and the cause, Vail'd is your pride: methinks you hang the heads But we'll advance them, traitors: now 'tis time To be aveng'd on you for all your braves, And for the murder of my dearest friend, To whom right well you knew our soul was knit, Good Pierce of Gaveston, my sweet favourite: Ah, rebels, recreants, you made him away! _Kent._ Brother, in regard of thee and of thy land, Did they remove that flatterer from thy throne. _K. Edw._ So, sir, you have spoke: away, avoid our presence! [_Exit Kent._ Accursed wretches, was't in regard of us, When we had sent our messenger to request He might be spar'd to come to speak with us, And Pembroke undertook for his return, That thou, proud Warwick, watch'd the prisoner, Poor Pierce, and headed him 'gainst law of arms? For which thy head shall overlook the rest As much as thou in rage outwent'st the rest. _War._ Tyrant, I scorn thy threats and menaces; It is but temporal that thou canst inflict. _Lan._ The worst is death; and better die to live Than live in infamy under such a king. _K. Edw._ Away with them, my lord of Winchester! These lusty leaders, Warwick and Lancaster, I charge you roundly, off with both their heads! Away! _War._ Farewell, vain world! _Lan._ Sweet Mortimer, farewell! _Y. Mor._ England, unkind to thy nobility, Groan for this grief! behold how thou art maim'd! _K.