And bow my head whilst Mollo's son doth say,
"Be silent, wife."—Shall I endure all this?
O Edward! gentle Ethling! thou who once
Didst bear the title of my future lord!
Would'st thou have used me thus! I'll not endure it.
Dwi. Yet be more patient!
Elb. Be patient, say'st thou! go to, for I hate thee
When thou so calmly talk'st. Tho' seemingly,
I oft before his keen commanding eye
Submissive am, think'st thou I am subdued?
No, by my royal race, I'll not endure it!
I will unto the bishop with my wrongs!
Rever'd and holy men shall do me right.
And here he comes unsent for: this my hope
Calls a good omen.
Enter Hexulf.
I crave your blessing.
Hex, Thou hast it, royal daughter. Art thou well?
Thou seem'st disorder'd.
Elb. Yes, rev'rend father, I am sorely gall'd
Beneath a heavy and ignoble yoke;
My crowned head is in subjection bow'd,
Like meanest household dame; and thinkest thou
That it becomes the daughter of a king,
The chief descendant of your royal race
To bear all this, and say that she is well?
