Thou art less than gentle towards his love and him.
ROSAMUND.
I would not speak ungently. Her I love,
Poor child, and him I hate not.
ALBOVINE.
Thou shalt live
To love him too.
ROSAMUND.
This heaviness of heat
Kills love and hate and life in me. I know not
Aught lovesome save the sweet brief death of sleep.
ALBOVINE.
I am weary as thou. Good night we may not say—
Good noon I bid thee. Sleep shall heal us.
ROSAMUND.