HENRY.
Nay, I remember it well.
There on the moors.
ROSAMUND.
And in a narrow path.
A plover flew before thee. Then I saw
Thy high black steed among the flaming furze,
Like sudden night in the main glare of day.
And from that height something was said to me
I knew not what.
HENRY.
I ask'd the way.
ROSAMUND.
I think so.
So I lost mine.
HENRY.
Thou wast too shamed to answer.
ROSAMUND.
Too scared--so young!
HENRY.
The rosebud of my rose!--
Well, well, no more of _him_--I have sent his folk,
His kin, all his belongings, overseas;
Age, orphans, and babe-breasting mothers--all
By hundreds to him--there to beg, starve, die--
So that the fool King Louis feed them not.
The man shall feel that I can strike him yet.
ROSAMUND.
Babes, orphans, mothers! is that royal, Sire?
HENRY.
And I have been as royal with the Church.
He shelter'd in the Abbey of Pontigny.
There wore his time studying the canon law
To work it against me. But since he cursed
My friends at Veselay, I have let them know,
That if they keep him longer as their guest,
I scatter all their cowls to all the hells.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73