By fire: it burns not thee. Strike hand in hand:
Ye have done so after battle.

ALBOVINE.

Drink again.
I pledge thee, boy.

ALMACHILDES.

I pledge thee, king.

ROSAMUND.

My lord,
I am weary at heart, and fain would sleep. Forgive me
That I can sit no more.

ALBOVINE.

What ails thee?

ROSAMUND.

Nought.
The hot and heavy time of year has bound
About my brows a band of iron. Sire,
Thou wouldst not see me sink aswoon, and mar
The raptures of thy revel.