_Kent._ Each drop a supplicant that I would ease Were such sweet power mine. But, by my soul, And by the mother's love I never knew Though dreamed on, I am innocent of blood, Nor did I ever see or know your son. _Ade._ Ah, I have found him, lords! O, you old men, If any here be old, do you not hear The mighty Henry speak in this young voice? My grandsire, Louis, bends that brow on me, That eye has flashed such light from 'neath a crown. [_To Kent_] Be not amazed; thou art my only born. Thy mother's heart could not so falsely beat As to deny thee! England, be glad with me! _Count de Rouillet._ O, pity, Heaven! She is mad again. _Win._ Take her away. _Ade._ Away? When I have found him? By those blest stars that drew my feet to his, I'll not go hence till he may go with me! _Kent._ Dear lady, go. I'll come to thee in time. _Ade._ I am thy mother. Wilt not call me so? I've cleared my vision with a sea of tears And can not be deceived. _Cant._ Wouldst call a villain son? A man condemned? Whose headsman waits even now? _Ade._ What has he done? God does not lie, and 'twas his hand that writ This countenance to mark a noble mind, And not to be a villain's fair decoy. Ah, murder him, but the same axe will strike My life away, for never shall he go From out my arms! _One of her women._ Come, dearest lady. _Win._ Ay, She must depart. [_To Rouillet_] Pray, lead her off, my lord. She interrupts the court. _Ade._ You'd force me, sir? Ah, true, I am in England. O, my lords, I beg you let me stay! I'll not disturb you, But sit as quiet as the stone I am. [_Takes a seat. Her women attend her_] You see, my lords, I'm calm. I have no son. _Win._ [_To Canterbury_] This time is poorly spared. Pray you, proceed. _Cant._ Hear then your sentence, Hubert, earl of Kent, And Margaret, his wife, stand forth with him. Unto the block you both shall go forthwith---- _A guard at door._ The king! _Win._ The king? The doors are closed to all! _Hen._ [_Entering_] All but the king, lord bishop. Margaret, I bring a gift--your freedom. Ah, you sinned When you confessed your guilt, but not before. Our dearest Glaia died not by your hand, Nor yet by Kent's. First, lords, know you The maiden was the daughter of my father-- Ay, ay, there's proof. She was the child of John And a fair lady of his court and ours, Who, dying, made confession to her priest---- _Win._ A priest? We know, my lord and king, that priests Oft sell reports unto the devil's purse. _Hen._ That from a churchman? _Win._ Would an honest priest Betray confession?