I have held my peace perforce, it seems, too long,
Being slower of speech than sons of meaner men.
But seeing my sire hath done my mother wrong,
My hand is hers to serve against my sire.
GUENDOLEN.
And God shall make thine hand against him strong.
LOCRINE.
Ay: when the hearthstead flames, the roof takes fire.
GUENDOLEN.
Woe worth his hand who set the hearth on flame!
LOCRINE.
Curse not our fathers; though thy fierce desire
Drive thine own son against his father, shame
Should rein thy tongue from speech too shameless.
GUENDOLEN.