No: Thou art gentle, and beasts are honest: no such way Lies open toward thy fearful foot: not so Shalt thou find surety from these foes of thine. Woe worth thee therefore! yea, a sevenfold woe Shall God through us rain down on thee, Locrine. Hadst thou the heart God hath not given thee—then Our blood might run before thy feet like wine And wash thy way toward sin in sight of men Smooth, soft, and safe. But if thou shed it not— If Madan live to look on Guendolen Living—I wot not what shall be—I wot What shall not—thou shalt have no joy to live More than have they for whom God’s wrath grows hot. LOCRINE. God’s grace is no such gift as thou canst give, Queen, or withhold. Farewell. GUENDOLEN. I dare not say Farewell. LOCRINE. And why? GUENDOLEN. Thou hast not said—Forgive. LOCRINE. I say it—I have said. Thou wilt not hear me? GUENDOLEN. Nay. [_Exeunt_. ACT V. SCENE I.—_Fields near the Severn_. _Enter on one side_ LOCRINE _and his army_: _on the other_ _side_ GUENDOLEN, MADAN, _and their army_. LOCRINE. Stand fast, and sound a parley. MADAN. Halt: it seems They would have rather speech than strokes of us. LOCRINE.