I had them clear
A royal pleasaunce for thee, in the wood,
Not leave these countryfolk at court.
ROSAMUND.
I brought them
In from the wood, and set them here. I love them
More than the garden flowers, that seem at most
Sweet guests, or foreign cousins, not half speaking
The language of the land. I love _them_ too,
Yes. But, my liege, I am sure, of all the roses--
Shame fall on those who gave it a dog's name--
This wild one (_picking a briar-rose_)--nay, I shall not prick myself--
Is sweetest. Do but smell!
HENRY.
Thou rose of the world!
Thou rose of all the roses!
[Muttering.
I am not worthy of her--this beast-body
That God has plunged my soul in--I, that taking
The Fiend's advantage of a throne, so long
Have wander'd among women,--a foul stream
Thro' fever-breeding levels,--at her side,
Among these happy dales, run clearer, drop
The mud I carried, like yon brook, and glass
The faithful face of heaven--
[Looking at her, and unconsciously aloud,
--thine! thine!
ROSAMUND.
Pages:
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75