I’d have him speak. Kneel down before him, boy,
Hold up your hands to him that he may pluck
That milky coloured neck out of the noose.
Arias.
Die, Seanchan, and proclaim the right of the poets.
[All the Pupils turn towards the King, holding out the ends of their halters.
Senias.
Gather the halters up into your hands
And lead us where you will, for in all things
But in our art we are obedient.