The pitiless heaven that looks on Henry now.
Bam. ’Tis the Queen that we be come about my Liege,
’Tis she hath sent us.
Hen. To mock my sorrow with false courtesies,
To note my shame and carry to her ears
My misery. O iron Ones, have ye
No mercy left?
Bam. Nay, nay, my Liege, curse not but hearken me,
The noble woman we call Germany’s Queen.