Rosamund, Queen of the Lombards: A Tragedy
ALMACHILDES.

ALMACHILDES.

I shall not, king,

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

She will not. Sirs, good night—if night may be Good. Hardly may the day be, here. And yet For you it may be—Hildegard and thee. God give you joy.

ALMACHILDES.

ALMACHILDES.

God give thee comfort, king.

[Exeunt.

p. 22ACT II.

p. 22

A room in the Queen’s apartments.

Enter Rosamund.

Rosamund

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

I am yet alive to question if I live And wonder what may ever bid me die. But live I will, being yet not dead with thee, Father. Thou knowest in Paradise my heart. I feel thy kisses breathing on my lips, Whereto the dead cold relic of thy face Was pressed at bidding of thy slayer last night, And yet they were not withered: nay, they are red As blood is—blood but newly spilt—not thine. How good thou wast and sweet of spirit—how dear, Father! None lives that knew thee now save one, And none loves me but thou nor thee but I, That was till yesternight thy daughter: now That very 
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