Athelwold . iv. Full a month. Elf. Then speak. Here is the King. Thoult do it ? Osuu. Leavet to me. Elf. If thoult inflame him, Ive an uncut em-eraldShalt sleep with thee to-night. L 8l Os^w. I thank thee, madam. Leave him to me. Elfl. Nay, wait. Hast thought it over ? What is thy speech ? Os-iv. My wit shalt be the prompter, I know not. Leavet to me. Hes here. Elfl. Remember. [Exit Elfleda.] [Enter Edgar.] Ed. My falcons ! ho, my falcons! (Seeing Os-wald.) There, sir ? Come,Foot it awhile. Nay, Ill not ride have bethought me of an irksome stiffness,Caught yesterday while sleeping.
Athelwold . iv. Full a month. Elf. Then speak. Here is the King. Thoult do it ? Osuu. Leavet to me. Elf. If thoult inflame him, Ive an uncut em-eraldShalt sleep with thee to-night. L 8l Os^w. I thank thee, madam. Leave him to me. Elfl. Nay, wait. Hast thought it over ? What is thy speech ? Os-iv. My wit shalt be the prompter, I know not. Leavet to me. Hes here. Elfl. Remember. [Exit Elfleda.] [Enter Edgar.] Ed. My falcons ! ho, my falcons! (Seeing Os-wald.) There, sir ? Come,Foot it awhile. Nay, Ill not ride have bethought me of an irksome stiffness,Caught yesterday while sleeping. Gods! I am wearyOf everything! Osxv. Now, if Lord Athelwold Were here, my liege. He doth so know Ay ; but hes sick o love, as I of What! is love nothing ?Ed. Ay, Sir Priest, to you, Or should be. I will have my falcons, nowIve thought of it again. Would AthelwoldWere here, in truth! Theres Metal, my good monk!A sportsman to the edges of his love were done with him!82. remember Ostv. Your Majesty— Ed. Well? Well? Ostv. You were not een deceived in aught—But no, I will not sayt. I fear your wrathMay strike the tree ere that its fruit be ripe. Ed. What tree ? What fruit ? Osiv. The tree o my dear duty Unto your Majesty ; the fruit of loyalty. Ed. This hath been taken from an unpreachedsermon,Hatht not, good Oswald ? Tis too fine for like your downright speech that pelts like hail,Or flies like chips beneath the sharp axe-blowsOf some keen mind against the Tree o tree Ive heard of, but the tree o dutyMy woodcraft knows not. Come ! Deceived, thou of deceived ? Osiv. Oh, twas a thought. Nay, Til be brave in this; Ill not dissemble,Even though my truth should prove my death. Your Majesty,There have been tales of late. Ed. Well, on ; what tales ? Hast thou yet tried that new-marked tennis court ?But of these tales ? Twill hit your heart-ribs, sire. 83 Ed. Well, word it. As we talk of ribs, SirMonk,The
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