Thou hast been sick, lord, but thy sickness abateth.
KING PHARAMOND
Thou art sad unto weeping: sorry rags are thy raiment,
For I see thee a little now: where am I lying?
MASTER OLIVER
On the sere leaves thou liest, lord, deep in the wild wood
KING PHARAMOND
What meaneth all this? was I not Pharamond,
A worker of great deeds after my father,
Freer of my land from murder and wrong,
Fain of folks' love, and no blencher in battle?
MASTER OLIVER
Yea, thou wert king and the kindest under heaven.
KING PHARAMOND