.. I'll hear no more.
You shall be answered afterward for this.
Put something over her: get her buried:
I will not look on her again.
[He breaks from GONERIL and flings abruptly out by the door near the bed.]
Gormflaith:
My king, you leave me!
Goneril:
Soon we follow him:
But, ah, poor fragile beauty, you cannot rise
While this grave burden weights your drooping head.
[Laying her hand caressingly on GORMFLAITH'S neck, she gradually forces
her head farther and farther down.]
You were not nurtured to sustain a crown,
Your unanointed parents could not breed
The spirit that ten hundred years must ripen.
Lo, how you sink and fail.
Gormflaith:
You had best take care,
For where my neck has bruises yours shall have wounds.
The King knows of your wolfish snapping at me:
He will protect me.
Goneril:
Ay, if he is in time.
Gormflaith (taking off the crown and holding it up blindly toward
Goneril with one hand):
Take it and let me go!
Goneril:
Nay, not to me:
You are the Queen's, to serve her even in death.
Yield her her own. Approach her: do not fear;
She will not chide you or forgive you now.
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