ROSAMUND.
And is that altogether royal?
HENRY.
Traitress!
ROSAMUND.
A faithful traitress to thy royal fame.
HENRY.
Fame! what care I for fame? Spite, ignorance, envy,
Yea, honesty too, paint her what way they will.
Fame of to-day is infamy to-morrow;
Infamy of to-day is fame to-morrow;
And round and round again. What matters? Royal--I
mean to leave the royalty of my crown
Unlessen'd to mine heirs.
ROSAMUND.
Still--thy fame too:
I say that should be royal.
HENRY.
And I say,
I care not for thy saying.
ROSAMUND.
And I say,
I care not for _thy_ saying. A greater King
Than thou art, Love, who cares not for the word,
Makes 'care not'--care. There have I spoken true?
HENRY.
Care dwell with me for ever, when I cease
To care for thee as ever!
ROSAMUND.
No need! no need!...
There is a bench. Come, wilt thou sit?... My bank
Of wild-flowers [_he sits_]. At thy feet!
[She sits at his feet.
HENRY.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74