King. This is thy Sex’s fear, and no Interpretation of the Oracle.
Queen. I cou’d convince you farther.
King. Hast thou a Secret thou canst keep from me? thy Soul a Thought that I must be a Stranger to? This is not like the Justice of Semernia: Come unriddle me the Oracle.
Queen. The English General shall be a Captive to his Enemy; he is so, Sir, already, to my Beauty, he says he languishes for Love of me.
King. Hah! the General my Rival—but go on—
Queen. And you from all your War be freed: Oh, let me not explain that fatal Line, for fear it mean, you shall be freed by Death.
King. What, when by my Hand the Foe shall bleed?—away—it cannot be—
Queen. No doubt, my Lord, you’ll bravely sell your Life, and deal some Wounds where you’ll receive so many.
King. ’Tis Love, Semernia, makes thee dream while waking:
I’ll trust the Gods, and am resolv’d for Battel.