Ile fire thy crazed buildings, and enforce
The Papall Towers, to kisse the lowly ground,
With slaughtered Priests may Tybers channell swell,
And bankes raisd higher with their sepulchers,
As for the Peeres that back the clergy thus,
If I be King, not one of them shall live.
Enter Gaveston.
My Lord, I heare it whispered every where
That I am banish'd, and must flie the Land.
Ed.
Tis true sweet Gaveston, oh were it 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 raigne to be reveng'd of them,
And therefore sweet friend, take it patiently.
Live where thou wilt, ile send thee gold enough,
And long thou shalt not stay, or if thou dost,
Ile come to thee, my love shall nere decline.
Gave.
Is all my hope turn'd to this hell of griefe.
Edw.
Rend not my heart with thy too piercing words,
Thou from this Land, I from my selfe am banisht.
Gave.
To go from hence, grieves not poore Gaveston,
But to forsake you, in whose gracious lookes,
The blessednesse of Gaveston remaines,
For no where else seekes he felicity.
Ed.
And only this torments my wretched soule,
That whether I will or no thou must depart:
Be Governour of Ireland in my stead,
And there abide till fortune call thee home.
Here take my Picture, and let me weare thine,
O might I keepe thee heere, as I do this,
Happy were I, but now most miserable.
Gave.
Tis something to be pittied of a King.
Edw.
Thou shalt not hence, ile hide thee Gaveston.
Gave.
I shall be found, and then twill grieve me more.
Edw.
Kind words and mutuall talke makes our griefe greater.
Therefore with dumbe imbracement let us part,
Stay Gaveston, I cannot leave thee thus.
Gave.
