I am fain
And loth to tell thee how it wrings my heart
That now this hard-eyed heavy southern sun
Hath wrought its will upon us all a year
And yet I know not if my wife be mine.
NARSETES.
Thy meanest man at arms had known ere dawn
Blinked on his bridal birthday.
ALBOVINE.
Did I bid thee
Mock, and forget me for thy friend—I say not,
King? Is thy heart so light and lean a thing,
So loose in faith and faint in love? I bade thee
Stand to me, help me, hold my hand in thine
And give my heart back answer. This it is,
Old friend and fool, that gnaws my life in twain—
The worm that writhes and feeds about my heart—
The devil and God are crying in either ear
One murderous word for ever, night and day,
Dark day and deadly night and deadly day,
Can she love thee who slewest her father? I
Love her.
NARSETES.
Thy wife should love thee as thy sire’s
Loved him. Thou art worth a woman—heart for heart.
ALBOVINE.
My sire’s wife loved him? Hers he had not slain.
Would God I might but die and burn in hell
And know my love had loved me!
NARSETES.