Away from her, and yet retain my soul.
My body is her bower, her court, her abbey,
And she an angel, pure, divine, unspotted.
If I should lend her house, my lord, to thee,
I kill my poor soul, and my poor soul me.
Edward. Didst thou not swear to give me what I would?
Countess. I did, my liege; so what you would I could.
Edward. I wish no more of thee than thou mayst give.
Nor beg I do not, but I rather buy;
That is thy love; and for that love of thine,