GUENDOLEN.
Nay, child, nay—thou art harsh as heaven to me—
I would but have of thee a word of cheer.
MADAN.
I am weak in words: my tongue can match not thine,
Mother.
Voices within] The king!
GUENDOLEN.
Hearst thou?
Voices within.] The king!
MADAN.
I hear.
Enter Locrine.
LOCRINE.