ROSAMUND. Not now so much. My Anjou bower was scarce as beautiful. But you were oftener there. I have none but you. The brook's voice is not yours, and no flower, not The sun himself, should he be changed to one, Could shine away the darkness of that gap Left by the lack of love. HENRY. The lack of love! ROSAMUND. Of one we love. Nay, I would not be bold, Yet hoped ere this you might-- [_Looks earnestly at him_. HENRY. Anything further? ROSAMUND. Only my best bower-maiden died of late, And that old priest whom John of Salisbury trusted Hath sent another. HENRY. Secret? ROSAMUND. I but ask'd her One question, and she primm'd her mouth and put Her hands together--thus--and said, God help her, That she was sworn to silence. HENRY. What did you ask her? ROSAMUND. Some daily something--nothing. HENRY. Secret, then? ROSAMUND. I do not love her. Must you go, my liege, So suddenly? HENRY. I came to England suddenly, And on a great occasion sure to wake As great a wrath in Becket-- ROSAMUND. Always Becket! He always comes between us. HENRY. --And to meet it I needs must leave as suddenly. It is raining, Put on your hood and see me to the bounds. [_Exeunt_ MARGERY (_singing behind scene_). Babble in bower Under the rose! Bee mustn't buzz, Whoop--but he knows. Kiss me, little one, Nobody near! Grasshopper, grasshopper, Whoop--you can hear. Kiss in the bower, Tit on the tree! Bird mustn't tell, Whoop--he can see. _Enter_ MARGERY.