hness' presence.
_Lan._ For his repeal, madam! he comes not back,
Unless the sea cast up his shipwreck'd body.
_War._ And to behold so sweet a sight as that,
There's none here but would run his horse to death.
_Y. Mor._ But, madam, would you have us call him home?
_Q. Isab._ Ay, Mortimer, for, till he be restor'd,
The angry king hath banish'd me the court;
And, therefore, as thou lov'st and tender'st me,
Be thou my advocate unto these peers.
_Y. Mor._ What, would you have me plead for Gaveston?
_E. Mor._ Plead for him that will, I am resolv'd.
_Lan._ And so am I, my lord: dissuade the queen.
_Q. Isab._ O, Lancaster, let him dissuade the king!
For 'tis against my will he should return.
_War._ Then speak not for him; let the peasant go.
_Q. Isab._ 'Tis for myself I speak, and not for him.
_Pem._ No speaking will prevail; and therefore cease.
_Y. Mor._ Fair queen, forbear to angle for the fish
Which, being caught, strikes him that takes it dead;
I mean that vile torpedo, Gaveston,
That now, I hope, floats on the Irish seas.
_Q. Isab._ Sweet Mortimer, sit down by me a while,
And I will tell thee reasons of such weight
As thou wilt soon subscribe to his repeal.
_Y. Mor._ It is impossible: but speak your mind.
_Q. Isab._ Then, thus;--but none shall hear it but ourselves.
[_Talks to Y. Mor. apart._
_Lan._ My lords, albeit the queen win Mortimer,
Will you be resolute and hold with me?
_E. Mor._ Not I, against my nephew.
_Pem._ Fear not; the queen's words cannot alter him.
_War._ No? do but mark how earnestly she pleads!
_Lan._ And see how coldly his looks make denial!
_War._ She smiles: now, for my life, his mind is chang'd!
_Lan._ I'll rather lose his friendship, I, than grant.
_Y. Mor._ Well, of necessity it must be so.--
My lords, that I abhor base Gaveston
I hope your honours make no question.
And therefore, though I plead for his repeal,
'Tis not for his sake, but to our avail;
Nay, for the realm's behoof, and for the king's.
_Lan._ Fie, Mortimer, dishonour not thyself!
Can this be true, 'twas good to banish him?
And is this true, to call him home again?
Such reasons make white black, and dark night day.
_Y. Mor._ My Lord of Lancaster, mark the respect.
_Lan._ In no respect can contraries be true.
_Q. Isab._ Yet, good my lord, hear what he can allege.
_War._ All that he speaks is nothing; we are resolv'd.