Vor. The exigencies of the state demand
My quick consent; I, therefore, give it you.
And when the crown shall on my front be bound,
My faithful soul shall prize the sacred trust;
My arm be nerv’d to fight in its defence.
Barons. All hail, great Vortigern, of Britain King!
[Trumpet sounds.
Vor. My lords, vain compliment would suit but ill
The present time; I, therefore, briefly thank you.
But, ere we part, I fain would crave your hearing:—