_Rich._ Will you, my kindest father, say a word To bring me to the graces of the king? _Pem._ Ay, son. _Rich._ Now, sir? _Pem._ Nay, I'm not dying yet, And wish to keep my last words for his ears. There's holy magic in the passing tongue That stamps its truth unrasurable. So Would I grave Henry's heart. _Rich._ But, sir---- _Pem._ I'll wait My hour. Who comes with him? _Alb._ The legate, Gualo, To-day arrived from Rome. _Pem._ And I not told? Already I am dead. These ears, that kings Engaged, are now contracted to the worm Permits no forfeiture. Well, well, his message? _Alb._ The cardinal assures us that the pope Will cast his power with Henry. Though he loves This praying Louis, well he knows our right. _Pem._ The pope our friend? I thank thee, Heaven! England, take up thy heart! Thou yet mayst hope! [_Enter bishop of Winchester_] _Win._ God save great Pembroke! _Pem._ He alone can do it. Lord Albemarle, and my new-graced son, Will 't please you walk within? _Alb._ We are your servants. [_Exeunt Richford and Albemarle, left_] _Pem._ Now, Winchester? _Win._ You sent for me, your grace. I have made haste. _Pem._ Ay, you'd trot fast enough To see me die. _Win._ Nay, sir, I hope you've called Me to your service. _Pem._ So I have, my lord. A task unfinished I must leave to you. Here is the key to yonder cabinet. Pray you unlock it ... and take out the packet Your eye's now on. _Win._ This, sir? _Pem._ Ay, that is it. 'Twas Henry Second, grandsire of this Henry, Gave me that packet. Sir, you know the tale Of princess Adelais who journeyed here As the betrothed of Richard, Henry's son. Alack, she never was his bride. Some say That Henry loved her ... I know not ... but she Returned to France, her reason wandering. "If she recover," said the king to me, "Give her this packet; should she die, break seal And learn what you shall do." She did not die, Nor can I say she lives, so sad her state. Her age was bare fifteen when she left England, Her face a lily and her eyes a flood; She now must be midway her fifth decade, A time, I've heard, when subtle changes work Within the mind. A beauteous soul! O God, Restore her now, or lift her e'en to thee! ... Take you the packet, and the king's command. But first your oath. Deceit has sapped my faith So oft I could believe the devil himself Wears gown and mitre. Peter des Roches, will you Be true? _Win._ I swear by Heaven.