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第7章

rosamund-第7章

小说: rosamund 字数: 每页4000字

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Here。  Does thy memory too not fail thee; boy;
Burnt out by stress of summer

ALMACHILDES。

No。

ALBOVINE;

Nor hers?

HILDEGARD。

How might it; king?  Thou art good to us。

ALBOVINE。

All things born
Seem good to lovers in their spring of love;
And all men should be。  Maiden; God doth well
To give us foresight of the sight of heaven
By looking in such eyes as love like thine
Kindles and veils for love's sake。  Fain was I
To see my boy's bride and her bridegroom here
Before the feast broke in on us; and bless
Their love with mineif mine be blessing。

HILDEGARD。

Sire;
As the earth gives thanks in spring for the April sun
I would and cannot yield you thanks for this。

ALMACHILDES。

I cannot thank at all。  I cannot thank
God。

ALBOVINE。

Art thou mazed with love?  For her thou canst not
Thank God?  What feverish doubt of love or life
Crazes or cramps thy spirit?

ALMACHILDES。

I cannot say。
My heart; if any heart be left in me;
Is as it was not thankless:  yet; my king;
I know not how to thank thee。

ALBOVINE。

Thank me not:
I did not bid thee thank me。  Love thy love;
And God be with you:  so may God be found
Thankworthier。  Keep some heart in thee awhile
For God's and her sake。

ALMACHILDES。

All I may I will。

Re…enter ROSAMUND; followed by NARSETES and Guests。

ALBOVINE。

Sit; friends and warriors:  thou; my boy; next me;
And by my wife thy bride。  This night; that leaves
But two days more for June to burn and live;
Plights with my queen's troth mine in life and death
This last one time for ever; in the cup
Whence none shall drink hereafter。  Not in scorn;
Sirs; but in honour now the draught is pledged
Between us; ere this relic stand enshrined
And hallowed as a saint's on the altar。  Queen;
I drink to thee。

ROSAMUND。

I thank thee。  Good Narsetes;
Give him the chalice。  Women slain by fire
Thirst not as I to pledge thee。
'As ALBOVINE is about to take the cup;
ALMACHILDES rises and stabs him。

ALBOVINE。

Thou; my boy?  'Dies。

ROSAMUND。

I。  But he hears not。  Now; my warrior guests;
I drink to the onward passage of his soul
Death。  Had my hand turned coward or played me false;
This man that is my hand; and less than I
And less than he bloodguilty; this my death
Had been my husband's:  now he has left it me。
'Drinks。
How innocent are all but he and I
No time is mine to tell you。  Truth shall tell。
I pardon thee; my husband:  pardon me。  'Dies。

NARSETES。

Let none make moan。  This doom is none of man's。







End 

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