I could not say it.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Thou shalt, or God shall smite thee down to hell. What, art thou godless?

HILDEGARD.

HILDEGARD.

Art not thou?

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Not I. I find him just and gracious, girl: he gives me My right by might set fast on thine and thee.

HILDEGARD.

HILDEGARD.

For love of mercy, queen—for honour’s sake, Bid me not shame myself before a man— The man I love—who gives me back at least Honour, if love he gives not.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Ay, my maid? And yet he loves thee, or thy maiden thought Errs with no gracious error, more than thou Him?

HILDEGARD.

HILDEGARD.

Art thou woman born, to cast me back My maiden shame for shame upon my face? I would not say I loved him more than man Loved ever woman since the light of love Lit them alive together. Let us be.

ROSAMUND.

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