[All kneel to the king. Glaia comes through the hedge]
Gla. The king?
Hen. 'Tis true. I am that wretched man,
Your sovereign. [Kneels]
Ste. [Aside] Kneel to a woman! Nay,
Not Stephen! [Rises]
Hen. Speak, sweet, and say that I'm forgiven!
Gla. My Henry I'll forgive, but not the king.
Hen. No pity for the king? O, take him, too,
Fair Glaia, crown and all! [Rises] Look not away,