Alb. You are pleasant.
I fear? When I could lend him half my power,
And yet o'erbear him? In the north there are
One thousand leaders holding swords of me!
Win. I'm answered then?
Alb. Ay, sir. Though not from love
To Kent, nor hate to you, do I deny you.
But I'll not stand the champion of a wanton,
Though royal daughter of a royal sire.
The knightly Albemarles have never stooped