"Hear me, hear! The moment you mount your horse to go to the king, I mount mine too; but not to follow you, not to return to London, but to plunge with my horse down yonder precipice.

Oh, fear nothing; they will not accuse you of my murder.

They will say that I plunged down there with my horse, and that the raging animal caused my death." "Queen, take good heed, consider well what you say!" exclaimed Thomas Seymour, his countenance clearing up and his face flaming with delight.
"Bear in mind that your words must be either a condemnation or an avowal.

I wish death, or your love! Not the love of a queen, who thinks to be gracious to her subject, when for the moment she elevates him to herself; but the love of a woman who bows her head in meekness and receives her lover as at the same time her lord.

Oh, Catharine, be well on your guard! If you come to me with the pride of a queen, if there be even one thought in you which tells you that you are bestowing a favor on a subject as you take him to your heart, then be silent and let me go hence.