King, Spare him. Thou knowest not love like his. It burns And rends and wrings the spirit.

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

No. And thou, Dost thou then?

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Eyes and heart and sense are mine As weak and strong as woman’s can but be; As weak in strength and strong in weakness. Men, Being wise, and mightier than their mates on earth, Need no such knowledge born of inborn pain As quickens all the spirit of sense in us. Worms know what eagles know not.

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

Like enough. Rede me no redes and riddles. Never yet I have loved thee more, and yet I have loved thee well, Than now that loving-kindness borne toward love Makes thee so gracious, pleading for it.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Love Sees all things lovely: thine, if praise there be, Not mine the praise is: thee, not me, these twain Must love and worship as their lord of love.

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

Well, God be good to them and thee and me! I would this fierce Italian June were dead, So hard it weighs upon me.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Now not long Shall we sustain or sink aswoon from it: It has but left a day or two to die.

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