_Queen._ He's gone by water unto Scarborough; Pursue him quickly, and he cannot scape; The king hath left him, and his train is small. _War._ Foreslow[243] no time, sweet Lancaster, let's march. _Y. Mor._ How comes it that the king and he is parted? 40 _Queen._ That thus[244] your army, going several ways, Might be of lesser force: and with the power That he intendeth presently to raise, Be easily suppressed; therefore[245] be gone. _Y. Mor._ Here in the river rides a Flemish hoy; Let's all aboard, and follow him amain. _Lan._ The wind that bears him hence will fill our sails: Come, come aboard, 'tis but an hour's sailing. _Y. Mor._ Madam, stay you within this castle here. _Queen._ No, Mortimer, I'll to my lord the king. 50 _Y. Mor._ Nay, rather sail with us to Scarborough. _Queen._ You know the king is so suspicious, As if he hear I have but talked with you, Mine honour will be called in question; And therefore, gentle Mortimer, be gone. _Y. Mor._ Madam, I cannot stay to answer you, But think of Mortimer as he deserves. [_Exeunt_ Barons. _Queen._ So well hast thou deserved, sweet Mortimer, As Isabel could live with thee for ever. In vain I look for love at Edward's hand, 60 Whose eyes are fixed on none but Gaveston: Yet once more I'll importune him with prayer, If he be strange and not regard my words, My son and I will over into France, And to the king my brother there complain, How Gaveston hath robbed me of his love: But yet I hope my sorrows will have end, And Gaveston this blessèd day be slain. [_Exit._ SCENE V. _Enter_[246] GAVESTON, _pursued._ _Gav._ Yet, lusty lords, I have escaped your hands, Your threats, your larums, and your hot pursuits; And though divorcèd from King Edward's eyes, Yet liveth Pierce of Gaveston unsurprised, Breathing, in hope (malgrado[247] all your beards, That muster rebels thus against your king), To see[248] his royal sovereign once again. _Enter the_ Nobles. _War._ Upon him, soldiers, take away his weapons. _Y. Mor._ Thou proud disturber of thy country's peace, Corrupter of thy king; cause of these broils, 10 Base flatterer, yield! and were it not for shame, Shame and dishonour to a soldier's name, Upon my weapons point here should'st thou fall, And welter in thy gore. _Lan._ Monster of men! That, like the Greekish strumpet, trained to arms And bloody wars so many valiant knights, Look for no other fortune, wretch, than death! King Edward is not here to buckler thee. _War._ Lancaster, why talk'st thou to the slave?