CAMBER.
Ay? must my name among their names stand scored
Who keep my brother’s door or guard his gate?
A lordling—princeling—one that stands to wait—
That lights him back to bed or serves at board.
Old man, if yet thy foundering brain record
Aught—if thou know that once my sire was great,
Then must thou know he left no less to me,
His youngest, than to those my brethren born,
Kingship.
DEBON.
I know it. Your servant, sire, am I,
Who lived so long your sire’s.
CAMBER.
And how had he
Endured thy silence or sustained thy scorn?
Why must I know not what thou knowest of?
DEBON.
Why?
Hast thou not heard, king, that a true man’s trust
Is king for him of life and death? Locrine
Hath sealed with trust my lips—nay, prince, not mine—
His are they now.
CAMBER.
Thou art wise as he, and just,
And secret. God requite thee! yea, he must,
For man shall never. If my sword here shine
Sunward—God guard that reverend head of thine!