[_Exit_. ACT III. _An eastward room in the Palace_. _Enter_ ALBOVINE. ALBOVINE. This sun—no sun like ours—burns out my soul. I would, when June takes hold on us like fire, The wind could waft and whirl us northward: here The splendour and the sweetness of the world Eat out all joy of life or manhood. Earth Is here too hard on heaven—the Italian air Too bright to breathe, as fire, its next of kin, Too keen to handle. God, whoe’er God be, Keep us from withering as the lords of Rome— Slackening and sickening toward the imperious end That wiped them out of empire! Yea, he shall. _Enter_ HILDEGARD. HILDEGARD. The queen would wait upon your majesty. ALBOVINE. Bid her come in. And tell her ere she come I wait upon her will. [_Exit_ HILDEGARD.] What would she now? _Enter_ ROSAMUND. By Christ, how fair thou art! I never saw thee So like the sun in heaven: no rose on earth Might think to match thee. ROSAMUND. All I am is thine. ALBOVINE. Mine? God might come from heaven to worship thee. Thine eyes outlighten all the stars: thy face Leaves earth no flower to worship. ROSAMUND. How should earth Worship her children? Nought it is in me, My lord’s dear love it is, that makes me seem Fair. ALBOVINE. How thou liest thou knowest not. Rosamund, What hast thou done to be so beautiful? ROSAMUND. The sun has left thine eyes half blind. ALBOVINE. I dare not Kiss thee, or stare straight-eyed against the sun. ROSAMUND. Kiss me. Who knows how long the lord of life May spare us time for kissing? Life and love Are less than change and death. ALBOVINE. What ghosts are they? So sweet thou never wast to me before. The woman that is God—the God that is Woman—the sovereign of the soul of man, Our fathers’ Freia, Venus crowned in Rome, Has lent my love her girdle; but her lips Have robbed the red rose of its heart, and left No glory for the flower beyond all flowers To bid the spring be glad of. ROSAMUND. Summer and spring May cleanse and heal the heart of man no more Than winter may, or withering autumn. Sire, Husband and lord, I have a woful word To speak against a man beloved of thee, A man well worth all glory man may give— Against thine Almachildes.