ROSAMUND.
Courtesy sets on kings a goldener crown
That sits upon them seemlier.
ALBOVINE.
Courtesy!
Truth. Hark thee, boy, and let thy Hildegard
Hearken. Is she, thy queen, a peer of mine?
ALMACHILDES.
She wears no crown but heaven’s about her head—
No gold that was not born upon her brows
Transfigures or disfigures them. She is not
A peer of thine.
ROSAMUND.
He answers well.
ALBOVINE.
He answers
Ill—as the spirit of shamelessness might speak.