_Ade._ Ye peers of England, and ye men of God, Humbly I make my suit. Not as a princess With vassal pomp and power to awe the eye And judgment take fore-captive, though a score Of buried kings have dowered me with veins Of high regality; nor sue I with The holy potency of Heaven's pontiff, Though his own mouth would speak if I were silent, As speak the skies when tempests chasten earth. But here, my lords, a lonely woman kneels; A weary mother weeping her lost son. You know how all my better years were spent In that dark wild where wander minds dethroned. When the dear world came back to me, my cry Was for my babe--no more a babe, but up To manhood shot as in a single hour. And as the hunger takes some starving wretch, Desire upon me seized to know his love, And on his breast to die. My lords, mayhap I am as old as is the oldest here, But O, so poor in time. I've but that youth, Brief youth that held its morning roses up And fled, and this bare, aged now that drops But aching moments till I've found my son. _Cant._ Rise, royal Adelais! Believe that we Have hearts of men, and know the love of mothers. But to give back your son belongs to Him Whose voice doth open graves and call the dead. _Ade._ My heart cries that he lives! O, he was here Five years ago--five little years. Why, 'twas But yesterday! This letter tells you, sirs. "Brave and right royal. Great Henry's worthy son." This letter from the man who guarded him, Geoffrey de Burgh, an honest, good old man, And faithful to his king. He could not have A son so cruel as to kill my son, Or rob the world of what did so adorn it And yet none know. _Cant._ In grief I say 'tis so; And England lies in shame that her chief lord, Raised to administer her vaunted justice, Should prove so base, so foul, that---- _Ade._ O, my lord, He must be nobler than you think, else would your king Lift him so high?--make him his friend, And with an earldom top his risen fortune? May be he overcapped too many whom His guilt would please more than his innocence. _Cant._ We've given him fair and open trial. Urged him In name of God and England to declare His knowledge of the precious living charge His father left to him. But he is brazen In flat denial. _Ade._ O, your eminence, May I not see him? Let me plead for truth With a poor mother's tears. _Cant._ You will but hear The unblushing lie which we have sought to spare you. _Ade._ O, let me see him! _Cant._ Kent, step forth and tell This suffering princess what you will. _Kent._ [_Coming out from guards_] Dear madam, Your tears are suitors to my pity---- _Ade._ Henry!