XIX.

Then the king ( amazèd, mild,

As one reasoning with a child

All his speech ):‘ My wife! my fair!

And his hand on her brown hair

Trembles;‘ Lady, dost indeed

Weigh the meaning of thy rede?

Would'st thou dare the dropping away

Of allegiance, should our sway

And sweet splendour and renown

All be risked? ( methinks a crown

Doth become thee marvellous well ).

We ourself are, truth to tell,

Kingly both of wont and kind,

Suits not such the craven mind.’

‘ Yet this weird thou can'st not dree.’

Quoth the queen,‘ And live;’ then he,

‘ I must die and leave the fair

Unborn, long-desired heir

To his rightful heritage.’