Treason than all his days did Brute my lord.
My trust shall rest not in thee less than whole.

CAMBER.

Speak, then: too long thou falterest nigh the goal.

DEBON.

There is a bower built fast beside a ford
In Essex, held in sure and secret ward
Of woods and walls and waters, still and sole
As love could choose for harbourage: there the king
Keeps close from all men now these seven years since
The light wherein he lives: and there hath she
Borne him a maiden child more sweet than spring.

CAMBER.

A child her daughter? there now hidden?

DEBON.

Prince,
What ails thee?

CAMBER.

Nought. This river's name?