Emor: Nephew, I must to Scotland. Thou stay'st here.
Leave now to oppose thyself against the King.
Thou seest by nature he is mild and calm.
And seeing his mind so dotes on Gaveston,
Let him without controlment have his will:
The mightiest kings have had their minions —
Great Alexander lov'd Hephestion;
The conquering Hector for Hylas wept;
And for Patroclus stern Achilles droop'd.
And not kings only, but the wisest men —
The Roman Tully lov'd Octavius;
Grave Socrates, wild Alcibiades.
Then let His Grace, whose youth is flexible
And promiseth as much as we can wish,
Freely enjoy that vain, light-headed earl,
For riper years will wean him from such toys.
Y. MOR : Uncle, his wanton humor grieves not me.
But this I scorn, that one so basely
Should by his sovereign's favor grow so pert
And riot it with the treasure of the realm
While soldiers mutiny for want of pay — .
He wears a lord's revenue on his back,
And Midas-like he jets it in the court
With base outlandish cullions at his heels
Whose proud fantastic liveries make such show
As if that Proteus, god of shapes, appear'd!
I have not seen a dapper Jack so brisk:
He wears a short Italian hooded cloak,
Larded with pearl, and in his Tuscan cap
A jewel of more value than the crown.
While others walk below, the King and he
From out a window laugh at such as we,
And flout our train, and jest at our attire — .
Uncle, 'tis this makes me impatient.
E. MOR : But, nephew, now you see the King is chang'd.
Y. MOR : Then so am I, and live to do him service.
But whiles I have a sword, a hand, a heart,
I will not yield to any such upstart!
You know my mind. Come, uncle, let's away.