_Pem._ I would he were. _Y. Mor._ Why then, my lord, give me but leave to speak _E. Mor._ But, nephew, do not play the sophister. _Y. Mor._ This which I urge is of a burning zeal To mend the king, and do our country good, Know you not Gaveston hath store of gold, Which may in Ireland purchase him such friends, As he will front the mightiest of us all? 260 And whereas he shall live and be beloved, 'Tis hard for us to work his overthrow. _War._ Mark you but that, my lord of Lancaster. _Y. Mor._ But were he here, detested as he is, How easily might some base slave be suborned To greet his lordship with a poniard, And none so much as blame the murderer, But rather praise him for that brave attempt, And in the chronicle enrol his name For purging of the realm of such a plague? 270 _Pem._ He saith true. _Lan._ I, but how chance this was not done before? _Y. Mor._ Because, my lords, it was not thought upon; Nay, more, when he shall know it lies in us To banish him, and then to call him home, 'Twill make him vail[207] the top-flag of his pride, And fear to offend the meanest nobleman. _E. Mor._ But how if he do not, nephew? _Y. Mor._ Then may we with some colour rise in arms? For howsoever we have borne it out, 280 'Tis treason to be up against the king; So we shall have the people of our side, Which for his father's sake lean to the king, But cannot brook a night-grown mushroom, Such a one as my lord of Cornwall is, Should bear us down of the nobility. And when the commons and the nobles join, 'Tis not the king can buckler Gaveston; We'll pull him from the strongest hold he hath. My lords, if to perform this I be slack, 290 Think me as base a groom as Gaveston. _Lan._ On that condition, Lancaster will grant. _War._ And so will Pembroke and I. _E. Mor._ And I. _Y. Mor._ In this I count me highly gratified, And Mortimer will rest at your command. _Queen._ And when this favour Isabel forgets, Then let her live abandoned and forlorn. But see, in happy time, my lord the king, Having brought the Earl of Cornwall on his way, 300 Is new returned; this news will glad him much; Yet not so much as me; I love him more Than he can Gaveston; would he loved me But half so much, then were I treble-blessed! _Enter_ KING EDWARD, _mourning._ _Edw._ He's gone, and for his absence thus I mourn. Did ever sorrow go so near my heart, As doth the want of my sweet Gaveston! And could my crown's revenue bring him back, I would freely give it to his enemies, And think I gained, having bought so dear a friend. 310 _Queen._ Hark! how he harps upon his minion.