wn dominion doubled,
Both as a queen and mistress. If you leave me,
Know I can die, but dare not be displeased.

_Leo._ Sure you affect stupidity, my lord;
Or give me cause to think, that, when you lost
Three battles to the Moors, you coldly stood
As unconcerned as now.

_Bert._ I did my best;
Fate was not in my power.

_Leo._ And, with the like tame gravity, you saw
A raw young warrior take your baffled work,
And end it at a blow.

_Bert._ I humbly take my leave; but they, who blast
Your good opinion of me, may have cause
To know, I am no coward. [_He is going._

_Leo._ Bertran, stay.
[_Aside._] This may produce some dismal consequence
To him, whom dearer than my life I love.
[_To him._] Have I not managed my contrivance well,
To try your love, and make you doubt of mine?

_Bert._ Then, was it but a trial?
Methinks I start as from some dreadful dream,
And often ask myself if yet I wake.--
This turn's too quick to be without design;
I'll sound the bottom of't, ere I believe. [_Aside._

_Leo._ I find your love, and would reward it too,
But anxious fears solicit my weak breast.
I fear my people's faith;
That hot-mouthed beast, that bears against the curb,
Hard to be broken even by lawful kings,
But harder by usurpers.
Judge then, my lord, with all these cares opprest,
If I can think of love.

_Bert._ Believe me, madam,
These jealousies, however large they spread,
Have but one root, the old imprisoned king;
Whose lenity first pleased the gaping crowd;
But when long tried, and found supinely good,
Like AEsop's Log, they leapt upon his back.
Your father knew them well; and, when he mounted,
He reined them strongly, and he spurred them hard:
And, but he durst not do it all at once,
He had not left alive this patient saint,
This anvil of affronts, but sent him hence
To hold a peaceful branch of palm above,
And hymn it in the quire.

_Leo._ You've hit upon the very string, which, touched.
Echoes the sound, and jars within my soul;--
There lies my grief.

_Bert._ So long as there's a head,
Thither will all the mounting spirits fly;
Lop that but off, and then--

_Leo._ My virtue shrinks from such an horrid act.

_Bert._ This 'tis to have a virtue out of season.
Mercy is good, a very good dull virtue;
But kings mistake its timing, and are mild,
When manly courage bids them be severe:
Better be cruel once, than anxious ever.
Remove this threatening dan