Ay: no such coward as crawls and licks the dust
Till blood thence licked may slake his murderous lust
And leave his tongue the suppler shall be bred,
I think, in Britain ever—if the dead
May witness for the living. Though my son
Go forth among strange tribes to battle, none
Here shall he meet within our circling seas
So much more vile than vilest men as these.
And though the folk be fierce that harbour there
As once the Scythians driven before thee were,
And though some Cornish water change its name
As Humber then for furtherance of thy fame,
And take some dead man’s on it—some dead king’s
Slain of our son’s hand—and its watersprings
Wax red and radiant from such fire of fight
And swell as high with blood of hosts in flight—
No fiercer foe nor worthier shall he meet
Than then fell grovelling at his father’s feet.
Nor, though the day run red with blood of men
As that whose hours rang round thy praises then,
Shall thy son’s hand be deeper dipped therein
Than his that gat him—and that held it sin
To spill strange blood of barbarous women—wives
Or harlots—things of monstrous names and lives—
Fit spoil for swords of harsher-hearted folk;
Nor yet, though some that dared and ‘scaped the stroke
Be fair as beasts are beauteous,—fit to make
False hearts of fools bow down for love’s foul sake,
And burn up faith to ashes—shall my son
Forsake his father’s ways for such an one
As whom thy soldiers slew or slew not—thou
Hast no remembrance of them left thee now.
Even therefore may we stand assured of this:
What lip soever lure his lip to kiss,
Past question—else were he nor mine nor thine—
This boy would spurn a Scythian concubine.
LOCRINE.
Such peril scarce may cross or charm our son,
Though fairer women earth or heaven sees none
Than those whose breath makes mild our wild south-west
Where now he fares not forth on amorous quest.
GUENDOLEN.
Wilt thou not bless him going, and bid him speed?
LOCRINE.
So be it: yet surely not in word but deed
Lives all the soul of blessing or of ban
Or wrought or won by manhood’s might for man.
The gods be gracious to thee, boy, and give
Thy wish its will!
MADAN.
So shall they, if I live.
[Exeunt.