Since by the holy altar facing Heaven
We plighted wedding troth; to less and less,
That you should hate me?
(Enter Bishop of Bamburg.) My Lord Bishop! (Kneels.)
Bam. (Lifting her.) Nay, humble not thy lonely majesty,
Thy stately womanliness, most noble Margaret,
By such poor acts.
Queen. O, Bamburg, be my angel, my good guide,
Leading me by roads to Henry’s favour.
Bring back his heart to its one-time allegiance,