ull well
what kind of a devil I make--brother Henry knoweth, at any rate.
For all this do I grieve, but have no remedy, nor want one. I
sometimes do almost compassionate the old king, but I cannot
forbear, for he turneth my very blood to biting gall, and must
e'en take the consequences of his own folly. Truly is he wild for
love of me, this poor old man, and the more I hold him at a
distance the more he fondly dotes. I do verily believe he would
try to stand upon his foolish old head, did I but insist. I
sometimes have a thought to make him try it. He doeth enough that
is senseless and absurd, in all conscience, as it is. At all of
this do the courtiers smile, and laugh, and put me forward to
other pranks; that is, all but a few of the elders, who shake
their heads, but dare do nothing else for fear of the dauphin, who
will soon be king, and who stands first in urging and abetting me.
So it is easy for me to do what I wish, and above all to leave
undone that which I wish not, for I do easily rule them all, as
good Sir Edwin and dear Jane will testify. I have a ball every
night, wherein I do make a deal of amusement for every one by
dancing La Volta with his majesty until his heels, and his poor
old head, too, are like to fall off. Others importune me for those
dances, especially the dauphin, but I laugh and shake my head and
say that I will dance with no one but the king, because he dances
so well. This pleases his majesty mightily, and maketh an opening
for me to avoid the touch of other men, for I am jealous of myself
for thy sake, and save and garner every little touch for thee....
Sir Edwin will tell you I dance with no one else and surely never
will. You remember well, I doubt not, when thou first didst teach
me this new dance. Ah! how delightful it was! and yet how at first
it did frighten and anger me. Thou canst not know how my heart
beat during all the time of that first dance. I thought, of a
surety, it would burst; and then the wild thrill of frightened
ecstasy that made my blood run like fire! I knew it must be wrong,
for it was, in truth, too sweet a thing to be right. And then I
grew angry at thee as the cause of my wrong-doing and scolded
thee, and repented it, as usual. Truly didst thou conquer, not win
me. Then afterwards, withal it so frightened me, how I longed to
dance again, and could in no way stay myself from asking. At time