Can hide thy head but till to-morrow's dawn.
Osw. And ere to-morrow I may be a god,
If Emmeline be kind: but, kind or cruel,
I tell thee, Arthur, but to see this day,
That heavenly face, though not to have her mine,
I would give up a hundred years of life,
And bid fate cut to-morrow.
Arth. It soon will come, and thou repent too late;
Which to prevent, I'll bribe thee to be honest.
Thy noble head, accustomed to a crown,