than well with thee. ROSAMUND. ROSAMUND. Nought. ALBOVINE. ALBOVINE. Wilt thou swear it, sweet? ROSAMUND. ROSAMUND. By what thou wilt— By God and man—by hell and earth and heaven. I know what ails thy loyal heart of love And binds thy tongue for fear to bid me know. The cup we drank of when we feasted last Tastes bitter on it yet. Thou wilt not bid me Pledge thee therein again. If I bid thee, Pledge me thou shalt—and seal thy pardon. ALBOVINE. ALBOVINE. Be not Too sweet for woman. ROSAMUND. ROSAMUND. Cross me not in this. ALBOVINE. ALBOVINE. Mine old fast friend Narsetes hath my word Plighted. All funeral reverence shall inter The royal relic, and all thought therewith Of strife between thy father’s child and me Or less than love and honour. ROSAMUND.
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