_Rol._ [_Aside_] O God, the king! ... Give me the baldric, Glaia. I will return it, for I know the youth. In truth, I've seen him wear this very belt. 'Twas wrong to take it, Glaia. He belongs So wholly to the king that you can have No portion of his love, lest he betray Himself and thee. Go, get you ready, child, To leave this place. For you 'tis full of dangers. _Gla._ Back to the woods? O happiness! But I-- Ah, must we go so soon? _Rol._ It was your prayer. _Gla._ But then--I had not--strange! Why is it, Roland, 'Tis not so merry going as I thought? Is't not a little lonely in the woods? And yet it never seemed so. Will you come To see me, Roland? _Rol._ Do you want me, Glaia? _Gla._ O, yes, dear Roland! And you'll bring the boy? I want to ask if he will be my brother. _Rol._ You must not see him. Go and get you ready. [_Exit Glaia_] O, wretched me, to love so frail a thing! Fragile and pure, thou art not for this world, Where the same winds that bring thee breath must blow Thy gentle life out. [_Re-enter the king_] Sovereign liege, Count it not boldness if I dare to guess Your presence here. You come, my lord, to find This precious property. [_Gives him the belt_] I know 'tis prized, And hold me happy that it met my eye Before another's. _Hen._ Gentle Roland, thanks. I need not ask if you found aught with this More precious still. _Rol._ Nothing that majesty Might without blushing claim. _Hen._ Thank you again. [_Aside_] I've found the lover! ... Is there news from sea? _Rol._ Uncertain news, that I was on my way To give to you. Report cries victory For Hubert, but 'tis chance improbable That he should win, so take a breath, your highness, Ere you believe. _Hen._ The lords must know of this! _Rol._ Your majesty, I have a suit to thee. _Hen._ A victory! _Rol._ If you do hold him dear Who, by report, has won this doubtful battle, That saves your kingdom and sets fast your crown, I beg you hear me! _Hen._ Speak, but be not slow, Good Roland. _Rol._ Sire, De Burgh has enemies Who seek his downfall, for his honesty Stands rock-like 'tween the throne and treachery. 'Twas they who wrought to send him feebly forth 'Gainst odds so great they left no chance of life Save by God's love and favor. If he wins, The victor's garland and his king's reward Will further urge their hate to villainy. _Hen._ Who are these foes? _Rol._ The earl of Albemarle, Pembroke and Winchester. _Hen._ My very staff! What proof hast thou?