ELEANOR. Child, I am mine own self Of and belonging to the King. The King Hath divers ofs and ons, ofs and belongings, Almost as many as your true Mussulman-- Belongings, paramours, whom it pleases him To call his wives; but so it chances, child, That I am his main paramour, his sultana. But since the fondest pair of doves will jar, Ev'n in a cage of gold, we had words of late, And thereupon he call'd my children bastards. Do you believe that you are married to him? ROSAMUND, I _should_ believe it. ELEANOR. You must not believe it, Because I have a wholesome medicine here Puts that belief asleep. Your answer, beauty! Do you believe that you are married to him? ROSAMUND. Geoffrey, my boy, I saw the ball you lost in the fork of the great willow over the brook. Go. See that you do not fall in. Go. GEOFFREY. And leave you alone with the good fairy. She calls you beauty, but I don't like her looks. Well, you bid me go, and I'll have my ball anyhow. Shall I find you asleep when I come back? ROSAMUND. Go. [_Exit_ GEOFFREY. ELEANOR. He is easily found again. _Do_ you believe it? I pray you then to take my sleeping-draught; But if you should not care to take it--see! [_Draws a dagger_. What! have I scared the red rose from your face Into your heart. But this will find it there, And dig it from the root for ever. ROSAMUND. Help! help! ELEANOR. They say that walls have ears; but these, it seems, Have none! and I have none--to pity thee. ROSAMUND. I do beseech you--my child is so young, So backward too; I cannot leave him yet. I am not so happy I could not die myself, But the child is so young. You have children--his; And mine is the King's child; so, if you love him-- Nay, if you love him, there is great wrong done Somehow; but if you do not--there are those Who say you do not love him--let me go With my young boy, and I will hide my face, Blacken and gipsyfy it; none shall know me; The King shall never hear of me again, But I will beg my bread along the world With my young boy, and God will be our guide. I never meant you harm in any way. See, I can say no more. ELEANOR. Will you not say you are not married to him? ROSAMUND. Ay, Madam, I can _say_ it, if you will. ELEANOR. Then is thy pretty boy a bastard? ROSAMUND. No. ELEANOR. And thou thyself a proven wanton? ROSAMUND. No. I am none such. I never loved but one. I have heard of such that range from love to love, Like the wild beast--if you can call it love. I have heard of such--yea, even among those Who sit on thrones--I never saw any such, Never knew any such, and howsoever You do misname me, match'd with any such, I am snow to mud. ELEANOR. The more the pity then That thy true home--the heavens--cry out for thee Who art too pure for earth. _Enter_ FITZURSE.