That so I may inhale the roseate sweets,
And taste the nectar of those vermil lips.
[Takes the cup and drinks.
This seat is empty; fair Rowena, take it:
Would it were that Jove’s haughty wife doth grace!
Cata. It is Edmunda’s place; the queen’s, our mother’s.
Vor. Peace! she is unworthy of that station.
Wort. She, sir, is our queen; and, though not present,
Most righteously, the law awards it her’s.
Any usurping it, doth break the law.