_Edw._ I, Isabel, ne'er was my heart so light. Clerk of the crown, direct our warrant forth For Gaveston to Ireland: [_Enter_ Beaumont _with warrant._] Beaumont, fly, 370 As fast as Iris, or Jove's Mercury. _Bea._ It shall be done, my gracious lord. _Edw._ Lord Mortimer, we leave you to your charge. Now let us in, and feast it royally. Against our friend the Earl of Cornwall comes, We'll have a general tilt and tournament; And then his marriage shall be solemnised. For wot you not that I have made him sure[209] Unto our cousin, the earl of Gloucester's heir? _Lan._ Such news we hear, my lord. 380 _Edw._ That day, if not for him, yet for my sake, Who in the triumph will be challenger, Spare for no cost; we will requite your love. _War._ In this, or aught your highness shall command us. _Edw_. Thanks, gentle Warwick: come, let's in and revel. [_Exeunt. Manent the_ MORTIMERS. _E. Mor._ Nephew, I must to Scotland; thou stayest here. Leave now t'oppose thyself against the king. Thou seest by nature he is mild and calm, And, seeing his mind so doats on Gaveston, Let him without controulment have his will. 390 The mightiest kings have had their minions: Great Alexander loved Hephestion; The conquering Hercules[210] for his Hylas wept; And for Patroclus stern Achilles drooped. And not kings only, but the wisest men: The Roman Tully loved Octavius; Grave Socrates wild Alcibiades. Then let his grace, whose youth is flexible, And promiseth as much as we can wish, Freely enjoy that vain, light-headed earl; 400 For riper years will wean him from such toys. _Y. Mor._ Uncle, his wanton humour grieves not me; But this I scorn, that one so basely born Should by his sovereign's favour grow so pert, And riot it with the treasure of the realm. While soldiers mutiny for want of pay, He wears a lord's revenue on his back,[211] And Midas-like, he jets it in the court, With base outlandish cullions[212] at his heels, Whose proud fantastic liveries make such show, 410 As if that Proteus, god of shapes, appeared. I have not seen a dapper Jack so brisk; He wears a short Italian hooded cloak, Larded with pearl, and, in his Tuscan cap, A jewel of more value than the crown. While other[213] walk below, the king and he From out a window laugh at such as we, And flout our train, and jest at our attire. Uncle, 'tis this makes me impatient. 419 _E. Mor._ But, nephew, now you see the king is changed.