Shall man take of thy maidenhood, no tongue Praise it; no good shall eyes get more of thee That lightened for thy love's sake. Now, take note, Give ear, O all ye people, that my word May pierce your hearts through, and the stroke that cleaves Be fruitful to them; so shall all that hear Grow great at heart with child of thought most high And bring forth seed in season; this my child, This flower of this my body, this sweet life, This fair live youth I give you, to be slain, 1030 Spent, shed, poured out, and perish; take my gift And give it death and the under Gods who crave So much for that they give; for this is more, Much more is this than all we; for they give Freedom, and for a blast, an air of breath, A little soul that is not, they give back Light for all eyes, cheer for all hearts, and life That fills the world's width full of fame and praise And mightier love than children's. This they give, The grace to make thy country great, and wrest 1040 From time and death power to take hold on her And strength to scathe for ever; and this gift, Is this no more than man's love is or mine, Mine and all mothers'? nay, where that seems more, Where one loves life of child, wife, father, friend, Son, husband, mother, more than this, even there Are all these lives worth nothing, all loves else With this love slain and buried, and their tomb A thing for shame to spit on; for what love Hath a slave left to love with? or the heart 1050 Base-born and bound in bondage fast to fear, What should it do to love thee? what hath he, The man that hath no country? Gods nor men Have such to friend, yoked beast-like to base life, Vile, fruitless, grovelling at the foot of death, Landless and kinless thralls of no man's blood, Unchilded and unmothered, abject limbs That breed things abject; but who loves on earth Not friend, wife, husband, father, mother, child, Nor loves his own life for his own land's sake, 1060 But only this thing most, more this than all, He loves all well and well of all is loved, And this love lives for ever. See now, friends, My countrymen, my brothers, with what heart I give you this that of your hands again The Gods require for Athens; as I give So give ye to them what their hearts would have Who shall give back things better; yea, and these I take for me to witness, all these Gods, Were their great will more grievous than it is, 1070 Not one but three, for this one thin-spun thread A threefold band of children would I give For this land's love's sake; for whose love to-day I bid thee, child, fare deathward and farewell. CHORUS.