Rol. O, next to Hubert.
Gla. And the boy.
Rol. The boy?
Gla. Henry his name is. Such a pretty youth!
He gave me this,—and see, this jewel here
Is all so precious that it guards the life
Of whoso wears it. He must like me well
To give it me. Dost think he likes me, Roland?
Rol. [Aside] O God, the king! ... Give me the baldric, Glaia.
I will return it, for I know the youth.