_War._ Meantime, my lord of Pembroke and myself 120 Will to Newcastle here, and gather head. _Y. Mor._ About it then, and we will follow you. _Lan._ Be resolute and full of secrecy. _War._ I warrant you. [_Exit with_ PEMBROKE. _Y. Mor._ Cousin, and if he will not ransom him, I'll thunder such a peal into his ears, As never subject did unto his king.[223] _Lan._ Content, I'll bear my part--Holla! whose there? [Guard _appears._ _Enter_ Guard. _Y. Mor._ I, marry, such a guard as thus doth well. _Lan._ Lead on the way. 130 _Guard._ Whither will your lordships? _Y. Mor._ Whither else but to the king. _Guard._ His highness is disposed to be alone. _Lan._ Why, so he may, but we will speak to him. _Guard._ You may not in, my lord. _Y. Mor._ May we not? _Enter_[224] EDWARD _and_ KENT. _Edw._ How now! what noise is this? Who have we there, is't you? [_Going._ _Y. Mor._ Nay, stay, my lord, I come to bring you news; Mine uncle's taken prisoner by the Scots. 140 _Edw._ Then ransom him. _Lan._ 'Twas in your wars; you should ransom him. _Y. Mor._ And you shall ransom him, or else---- _Kent._ What! Mortimer, you will not threaten him? _Edw._ Quiet yourself, you shall have the broad seal, To gather for him th[o]roughout the realm. _Lan._ Your minion Gaveston hath taught you this. _Y. Mor._ My lord, the family of the Mortimers Are not so poor, but, would they sell their land, 'Twould[225] levy men enough to anger you. 150 We never beg, but use such prayers as these. _Edw._ Shall I still be haunted thus? _Y. Mor._ Nay, now you're here alone, I'll speak my mind. _Lan._ And so will I, and then, my lord, farewell. _Y. Mor._ The idle triumphs, masks, lascivious shows, And prodigal gifts bestowed on Gaveston, Have drawn thy treasury[226] dry, and made thee weak; The murmuring commons, overstretchèd, break.[227] _Lan._ Look for rebellion, look to be deposed; Thy garrisons are beaten out of France, 160 And, lame and poor, lie groaning at the gates. The wild Oneyl, with swarms of Irish kerns,[228] Lives uncontrolled within the English pale. Unto the walls of York the Scots make[229] road, And unresisted drive[230] away rich spoils. _Y. Mor._ The haughty Dane commands the narrow seas,[231] While in the harbour ride thy ships unrigged. _Lan._ What foreign prince sends thee ambassadors? _Y. Mor._ Who loves thee, but a sort of flatterers? _Lan._ Thy gentle queen, sole sister to Valois, 170 Complains that thou hast left her all forlorn.