ROSAMUND.

Nay, my lord, Let the dead thing live as a lifelong sign Of perfect plight in love and union. This Were no dishonour done to fatherhood But honour shown to wedlock. Here is spread The feast, the bride-feast of my love and thine, Whereat the cup of death shall serve our lips To drink forgetfulness of all but love. Herein thou shalt not thwart me.

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

God forbid.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

God hath forbidden: and God shall be obeyed. Bid thy Narsetes play the cup-bearer, And I will pour the wine: my hand shall fill The sacramental draught of love that seals Our eucharist of wedlock.

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

Yea, I know To drink with thee is even to drink with God. Thou art good as any God was ever.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Ay? We know not till we die.

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

Thou art wise and true As ever maid was born of the oldworld north In the oldworld years of legend. Bid Narsetes Bring thee the chalice: thou shalt mix the draught Whence we will drink life, if true love be life, Even from the lipless mouth of bone that speaks Death.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

I will mix it well with honey and herb Sweet as the mead our fathers drank, and dreamed Their gods so drank in heaven—draughts deep and strong As life is strong and death is deep. I go To bid Narsetes hither.

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