Sendeth unto Henry, greeting thus:
Though thou hast not an army thou hast love,
Though thou hast not a subject, yet a king
To her alone, her king of kingly men;
Though thou art cursed she still will keep to thee.
Hen. Oh Bamburg, this is worse than cursing, can kind Heaven
Hold such a blessing for a wretch like Henry?
Bam. It can and doth, Her Majesty waits without.
Hen. O, Bamburg I cannot see her, her true love,
Would so shame all my falseness all mine ill,