dw._ 'Tis true, sweet Gaveston: O were it false!
The legate of the Pope will have it so,
And thou must hence, or I shall be depos'd.
But I will reign to be reveng'd of them;
And therefore, sweet friend, take it patiently.
Live where thou wilt, I'll send thee gold enough;
And long thou shalt not stay; or, if thou dost,
I'll come to thee; my love shall ne'er decline.
_Gav._ Is all my hope turn'd to this hell of grief?
_K. Edw._ Rend not my heart with thy too-piercing words:
Thou from this land, I from myself am banish'd.
_Gav._ To go from hence grieves not poor Gaveston;
But to forsake you, in whose gracious looks
The blessedness of Gaveston remains;
For nowhere else seeks he felicity.
_K. Edw._ And only this torments my wretched soul,
That, whether I will or no, thou must depart.
Be governor of Ireland in my stead,
And there abide till fortune call thee home.
Here, take my picture, and let me wear thine:
[_They exchange pictures._
O, might I keep thee here, as I do this,
Happy were I! but now most miserable.
_Gav._ 'Tis something to be pitied of a king.
_K. Edw._ Thou shalt not hence; I'll hide thee, Gaveston.
_Gav._ I shall be found, and then 'twill grieve me more.
_K. Edw._ Kind words and mutual talk makes our grief greater:
Therefore, with dumb embracement, let us part,
Stay, Gaveston; I cannot leave thee thus.
_Gav._ For every look, my love drops down a tear:
Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow.
_K. Edw._ The time is little that thou hast to stay,
And, therefore, give me leave to look my fill.
But, come, sweet friend; I'll bear thee on thy way.
_Gav._ The peers will frown.
_K. Edw._ I pass not for their anger. Come, let's go:
O, that we might as well return as go!

_Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA.

_Q. Isab._ Whither goes my lord?
_K. Edw._ Fawn not on me, French strumpet; get thee gone!
_Q. Isab._ On whom but on my husband should I fawn?
_Gav._ On Mortimer; with whom, ungentle queen,--
I judge no more--judge you the rest, my lord.
_Q. Isab._ In saying this, thou wrong'st me, Gaveston:
Is't not enough that thou corrupt'st my lord,
And art a bawd to his affections,
But thou must call mine honour thus in question?
_Gav._ I mean not so; your grace must pardon me.
_K. Edw._ Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer,
And by thy means is Gaveston exil'd:
But I would