FlTZURSE.
Last night I followed a woman in the city here. Her face was veiled,
but the back methought was Rosamund--his paramour, thy rival. I can
feel for thee.
ELEANOR.
Thou feel for me!--paramour--rival! King Louis had no paramours, and I
loved him none the more. Henry had many, and I loved him none the
less--now neither more nor less--not at all; the cup's empty. I would
she were but his paramour, for men tire of their fancies; but I fear
this one fancy hath taken root, and borne blossom too, and she, whom
the King loves indeed, is a power in the State. Rival!--ay, and when
the King passes, there may come a crash and embroilment as in
Stephen's time; and her children--canst thou not--that secret matter
which would heat the King against thee (_whispers him and he starts_).
Nay, that is safe with me as with thyself: but canst thou not--thou
art drowned in debt--thou shalt have our love, our silence, and our
gold--canst thou not--if thou light upon her--free me from her?
FITZURSE.
Well, Madam, I have loved her in my time.
ELEANOR.
No, my bear, thou hast not. My Courts of Love would have held thee
guiltless of love--the fine attractions and repulses, the delicacies,
the subtleties.
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