Sit, friends and warriors: thou, my boy, next me, And by my wife thy bride. This night, that leaves But two days more for June to burn and live, Plights with my queen’s troth mine in life and death This last one time for ever, in the cup Whence none shall drink hereafter. Not in scorn, Sirs, but in honour now the draught is pledged Between us, ere this relic stand enshrined And hallowed as a saint’s on the altar. Queen, I drink to thee.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

I thank thee. Good Narsetes, Give him the chalice. Women slain by fire Thirst not as I to pledge thee.

[As Albovine is about to take the cup, Almachildes rises and stabs him.

Albovine

Almachildes

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

Thou, my boy?

[Dies.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

I. But he hears not. Now, my warrior guests, I drink to the onward passage of his soul Death. Had my hand turned coward or played me false, This man that is my hand, and less than I And less than he bloodguilty, this my death Had been my husband’s: now he has left it me.

[Drinks.

How innocent are all but he and I No time is mine to tell you. Truth shall tell. I pardon thee, my husband: pardon me.

[Dies.

NARSETES.

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