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.'