Of ill for ill to them that sent these garlands?
Or shall I silent stand, nor with my tongue
Give honour, as in dumb dishonoured death
My father died, and give the Earth to drink
A joyless stream, as who throws lustral ashes[n10]
With eyes averse, and flings the vase away?
Your counsel here I crave; ye are my friends,
And bear with me, within these fated halls
A common burden. Speak, and no craven fear
Lurk in your breasts! The man that lives most free,