Unto the forrest gentle Mortimer,

To live in greefe and balefull discontent,

For now my lord the king regardes me not,

But dotes upon the love of Gaveston.

He claps his cheekes, and hanges about his neck,

Smiles in his face, and whispers in his eares,

And when I come, he frownes, as who should say,

Go whether whither thou wilt seeing I have Gaveston.

Then let him stay, for rather then my lord

Shall be opprest by civill mutinies,

I wil endure a melancholie life,

And let him frollick with his minion.

Farewell sweet Mortimer, and for my sake,

Forbeare to levie armes against the king.