As may beseem a monarch like himself.
Myself have often heard him say and swear
[♦] That this his love was an eternal plant,
125 Whereof the root was fix’d in virtue’s ground,
The leaves and fruit maintain’d with beauty’s sun,
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain,
Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.
K. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.
[130] Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine:
[♦] [To War.] Yet I confess that often ere this day,