ROSAMUND. No God can break thine oath in twain And leave thee less than perjured. Thou must bid him Make thee to-night his bride. HILDEGARD. I could not say it. ROSAMUND. Thou shalt, or God shall smite thee down to hell. What, art thou godless? HILDEGARD. Art not thou? ROSAMUND. Not I. I find him just and gracious, girl: he gives me My right by might set fast on thine and thee. HILDEGARD. For love of mercy, queen—for honour’s sake, Bid me not shame myself before a man— The man I love—who gives me back at least Honour, if love he gives not. ROSAMUND. Ay, my maid? And yet he loves thee, or thy maiden thought Errs with no gracious error, more than thou Him? HILDEGARD. Art thou woman born, to cast me back My maiden shame for shame upon my face? I would not say I loved him more than man Loved ever woman since the light of love Lit them alive together. Let us be. ROSAMUND. I will not. Mine are both by God’s own gift. I will not cast it from me. Ye may live Hereafter happy: never now shall I. HILDEGARD. Have mercy. Nay, I cannot do it. And thou, Albeit thine heart be hot with hate as hell, Couldst say not, nor fold round with fairer speech, Those foul three words the Egyptian woman said Who tempted and could tempt not Joseph. ROSAMUND. No. He would not hearken. Joseph loved not her More than thine Almachildes me. But thou Shalt. Now no more may I debate with thee. Go. HILDEGARD. God requite thee! ROSAMUND. That shall he and I, Not thou, make proof of. If I plead with him, I crave of God but wrong’s requital. Go. [_Exit_ HILDEGARD.