Though angels pry the links.
JOHANNA
The bonds which nature?—
CHAUCER
Yes, nature: ’tis not love. Had it been love,
Would he have turned, even in his vows of truth,
And left you with his—ah! it chokes me. Nay,
Go, go, great marchioness, seek out your ward;
I crave your pardon.
[Bowing, he steps aside. Johanna, passing disdainfully to the door, there pauses, and turns to Chaucer, as though he had spoken.]