Elb. (with much assum'd stateliness.) I hope, my Lord,
I do, meantime, that dignity remember,
Which doth beseem the daughter of a king!
King. Fie! clear thy cloudy brow! it is my will
Thou honour graciously his modest worth.
(Elb. bows, but smiles disdainfully.)
By a well feigned flight, he was the first
Who broke the stubborn foe, opening the road
To victory. Here, with some public mark
Of royal favour, by thy hand received,
I will to honour him; for, since the battle,
A gloomy melancholy o'er him broods,
E'en far exceeding what a father's death
Should cast upon a youthful victor's triumph.
Ah! here he comes! look on that joyless face!
Elb. (aside to Dwina, looking scornfully to Edward as he approaches.)
Look with what slow and piteous gait he comes!
Like younger brother of a petty Thane,
Timing his footsteps to his father's dirge.
Dwina. (aside.) Nay, to my fancy it seems wond'rous graceful.
Elb. (contemptuously.) A youth, indeed, who might with humble grace
Beneath thy window tell his piteous tale.
Enter Edward, followed by Ethwald and Attendants.
King. Approach, my son: so will I call thee now.
