Hen. Not be my wife? Unsay the words, dear Hubert.
You mean, perhaps, she's humbler born than I—
The daughter of a duke—an earl—a lord—
Ay, say a knight that bravely bore his shield,
And all the gap 'twixt her degree and mine
Her native graces will bridge o'er and make
Her way unto my throne.
Kent. [Kneeling] O, king beloved,
You must believe me! She can not be yours!
Hen. Then, Heaven, turn foul, thou dost not shine for me!