[Taking lute] Good Orson, I am sorry if your knees are stiff. You may have the unguent that Sir Roland brought me from Palestine. Go, Eldra, and get it for him.
Eld. [Aside] An I give him not gooseoil with a dash of cinnamon, I'm no good servant to my mistress. [Exeunt Eldra and Orson]
Gla. I do not like this castle with Hubert away. Sir Roland makes it a prison. If I could get out I should try to find my way to Greenot woods. The doves are nesting now, and the little brown fawns are specked with snow. [Plays lute and sings]
O, lady, let the roses blow
In thy pale cheeks for this—
That I may to that garden go
And pluck them with a kiss.
My roses are all plucked, she said,
No more shall ever grow,