And less than man may woman. Rosamund
Stands radiant now in royal pride of place
As wife of thine and queen of Lombards--not
Cunimund's daughter. Hadst thou slain her sire
Shamefully, shame were thine to have sought her hand
And shame were hers to love thee: but he died
Manfully, by thy mightier hand than his
Manfully mastered. War, born blind as fire,
Fed not as fire upon her: many a maid
As royal dies disrobed of all but shame
And even to death burnt up for shame's sake: she
Lives, by thy grace, imperial.

ALBOVINE.

He or I,
Her lord or sire, which hath most part in her,
This hour shall try between us.

Enter ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Royal lord,
Thy wedded handmaid craves of thee a grace.

ALBOVINE.

My sovereign bids her bondman what she will.