And thou, Rémond, dost know I know! Enough.
O better far to lie upon this sod
And hear the wings of death above my head,
Than to be thou, thou stainèd conqueror!
Dishonoured thou from helm to bloody heel!
Enough! When the cock crows and the morning star
Shines steadfast over Loire I shall be gone.
One stays, that’s God. Do thou beware, Rémond,
For God will hearken unto Jonathan—
Thou canst not hurt a flower that he loved!