Until the beast came! There, do you not see him?

Away, black Albemarle! O, mercy, Heaven!

... Then there was Glaia, bud of our true love——

Hen. Glaia!

La. Alb. O, happy I, when he my king

Bent over me and said, "Sweet, she is ours!"

Hen. My sister!

La. Alb. What dost say? Thy sister? Ha!

Base monk, I tell thee that her blood was royal

As Henry's own! Ay, nobler! Who shall say