To me was less a riddle than to all
Who saw him not upon his latest path.
’Twill shock you to recoil—but there was like
Injunction laid on him, and he kept dumb
Lest aught should slip his guard. Thus much at least
I must believe, for in the very dying
He swore he’d naught committed worthy death.
Mar.
I know it all—yes!
Soemus.