Enter KING EDWARD and his followers, with the Barons and KENT captive.

     K. Edw. Now, lusty lords, now not by chance of war,
But justice of the quarrel and the cause,
Vail'd is your pride: methinks you hang the heads
But we'll advance them, traitors: now 'tis time
To be aveng'd on you for all your braves,
And for the murder of my dearest friend,
To whom right well you knew our soul was knit,
Good Pierce of Gaveston, my sweet favourite:
Ah, rebels, recreants, you made him away!
Kent. Brother, in regard of thee and of thy land,
Did they remove that flatterer from thy throne.
     K. Edw. So, sir, you have spoke: away, avoid our presence! [Exit Kent.
Accursed wretches, was't in regard of us,
When we had sent our messenger to request
He might be spar'd to come to speak with us,
And Pembroke undertook for his return,
That thou, proud Warwick, watch'd the prisoner,
Poor Pierce, and headed him 'gainst law of arms?
For which thy head shall overlook the rest
As much as thou in rage outwent'st the rest.
     War. Tyrant, I scorn thy threats and menaces;
It is but temporal that thou canst inflict.
     Lan. The worst is death; and better die to live
Than live in infamy under such a king.
     K. Edw. Away with them, my lord of Winchester!
These lusty leaders, Warwick and Lancaster,
I charge you roundly, off with both their heads!
Away!
     War. Farewell, vain world!
     Lan. Sweet Mortimer, farewell!
     Y. Mor. England, unkind to thy nobility,
Groan for this grief! behold how thou art maim'd!
     K. Edw. Go, take that haughty Mortimer to the Tower;
There see him safe bestow'd; and, for the rest,
Do speedy execution on them all.
Be gone!
     Y. Mor. What, Mortimer, can ragged stony walls
Immure thy virtue that aspires to heaven?
No, Edward, England's scourge, it may not be;
Mortimer's hope surmounts his fortune far. [The captive Barons are led off.
     K. Edw. Sound, drums and trumpets! March with me, my friends.
Edward this day hath crown'd him king anew. [Exeunt all except the younger Spenser, Levune and Baldock.
     Y. Spen. Levune, the trust that we repose in thee
Begets the quiet of King Edward's land:
Therefore be gone in haste, and with advice
Bestow that treasure on the lords of France,
That, therewith all enchanted, like the guard
That suffer'd Jove to pass in showers of gold
To Danaë, all aid may be denied
To Isabel the queen, that now in France
Makes friends, to cross the seas with her young son,
And step into his father's regiment.
     Levune. That's it these barons and the subtle queen
Long levell'd at.
     Bal. Yea, but, Levune, thou seest,
These barons lay their heads on blocks together:
What they intend, the hangman frustrates clean.
     Levune. Have you no doubt, my lords, I'll clap so close
Among the lords of France with England's gold,
That Isabel shall make her plaints in vain,
And France shall be obdurate with her tears.
     Y. Spen. Then make for France amain; Levune, away!
Proclaim King Edward's wars and victories. [Exeunt.