_Win._ Alas---- _Hen._ O, not that word--the pretty mask of woe. That never hid a tear. If she is dead, Weep and be dumb, or find some word that rends The heart in uttering it. _Win._ My lord---- _Hen._ My lord! You're too polite a mourner, by my faith! O, Glaia, Glaia, Glaia, art thou dead? Canst thou then sleep, O, God? _Win._ That he does sleep This deed is proof. _Hen._ What deed? 'Tis false! She lives. 'Twas blessed yester morn I held her here, And heard her laugh and say my kisses were Like Maythorn blossoms dropping on her hair. And can her voice be still? Nay, fiends themselves Love music, and would spare to put so much To silence. O, in her tongue the nightingale Was dead, having no sweeter cause to live. She could not die. A thousand thousand angels Would rush to save her and with silvery wings Beat back the assaulting devil. _Win._ Would I could say She lives! You drain my heart with every tear You drop upon this woe. Loved majesty, Look up and weep no more. _Hen._ Stop not my tears. They shall pour sea-like till my body lies An isle o'erwhelmed. My eyes could lend the skies Another flood yet lack not moisture.... Glaia! It was my kiss that slew thee. But for me Thou hadst been living still. So Winter springs To clasp his blushing Autumn love, then spends His weary season burying her dead leaves. _Win._ Rouse you, my lord. The creature is alive That slew her. _Hen._ He is found?--and lives--and you Stand here to tell me? _Win._ Hear my story, sire. When we arrested Kent---- _Hen._ Arrested Kent? You could not wait? Well, we shall see, my lord, My Glaia loved him and he shall not die. _Win._ The moment he was taken he confessed That he had slain the maid---- _Hen._ What is 't you say? Now, by my life, I thought you said that Kent-- I'll not repeat it--'twas so strange a thing-- I'm numb since this dark news, and what I hear By insurrection of my wits becomes What I hear not. _Win._ Recall yourself, my lord. Your wits are loyal, and inform you rightly. I said 'twas Kent---- _Hen._ Ha! Now the devil speaks In his own person. You've thrust the cloven foot Too far from 'neath the bishop's gown. _Win._ My lord---- _Hen._ Now I read back and take the hellish measure Of all your lies! _Win._ Your majesty---- _Hen._ Sir, I have loved this man, and when I felt Too weak for England's throne, I laid my head Upon his breast and there grew strong as he. And you dare say----