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Gav. My lord, I hear it whisper'd everywhere,

That I am banish'd and must fly the land.

K. Edw. '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