Thy lord and mine.

ALMACHILDES.

ALMACHILDES.

I had rather go down quick to hell.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

I know it. I leave thee not the choice. Keep thou thy hand Bloodless, and Hildegard, whom yet I love, Dies, and in fire, the harlot’s death of shame. Last night she lured thee hither. Hate of me, Because of late I smote her, being in wrath Forgetful of her noble maidenhood, Stung her for shame’s sake to take hands with shame. This if I swear, may she unswear it? Thou Canst not but say she bade thee seek her. She Lives while I will, as Albovine and thou Live by my grace and mercy. Live, or die. But live thou shalt not longer than her death, Her death by burning, if thou slay not him. I see my death shine in thine eyes: I see My present death inflame them. That were not Her surety, Almachildes. Thou shouldst know me Now. Though thou slay me, this may save not her. My lines are laid about her life, and may not By breach of mine be broken.

ALMACHILDES.

ALMACHILDES.

God must be Dead. Such a thing as thou could never else Live.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

That concerns not thee nor me. Be thou Sure that my will and power to serve it live. Lift now thine eyes to look upon thy lord.

Re-enter Albovine.

Albovine

ALBOVINE.

 Prev. P 38/59 next