Count monologue (Act 6) — Becket and other plays

Hear that, my bird! Art thou not jealous of her? My princess of the cloud, my plumed purveyor, My far-eyed queen of the winds--thou that canst soar Beyond the morning lark, and howsoe'er Thy quarry wind and wheel, swoop down upon him Eagle-like, lightning-like--strike, make his feathers Glance in mid heaven. [_Crosses to chair_. I would thou hadst a mate! Thy breed will die with thee, and mine with me: I am as lone and loveless as thyself. [_Sits in chair_. Giovanna here! Ay, ruffle thyself--_be_ jealous! Thou should'st be jealous of her. Tho' I bred thee The full-train'd marvel of all falconry, And love thee and thou me, yet if Giovanna Be here again--No, no! Buss me, my bird! The stately widow has no heart for me. Thou art the last friend left me upon earth-- No, no again to that. [_Rises and turns_. My good old nurse, I had forgotten thou wast sitting there.