DEBON.
Estrild.
CAMBER.
My brother is a prince of paramours—
Eyes coloured like the springtide sea, and hair
Bright as with fire of sundawn—face as fair
As mine is swart and worn with haggard hours,
Though less in years than his—such hap was ours
When chance drew forth for us the lots that were
Hid close in time’s clenched hand: and now I swear,
Though his be goodlier than the stars or flowers,
I would not change this head of mine, or crown
Scarce worth a smile of his—thy lord Locrine’s—
For that fair head and crown imperial; nay,
Not were I cast by force of fortune down
Lower than the lowest lean serf that prowls and pines
And loathes for fear all hours of night and day.
DEBON.
What says my lord? how means he?
CAMBER.
Vex not thou
Thine old hoar head with care to learn of me
This. Great is time, and what he wills to be
Is here or ever proof may bring it: now,
Now is the future present. If thy vow
Constrain thee not, yet would I know of thee
One thing: this lustrous love-bird, where is she?
What nest is hers on what green flowering bough
Deep in what wild sweet woodland?
DEBON.
Good my lord,
Have I not sinned already—flawed my faith,
To lend such ear even to such royal suit?
CAMBER.
Yea, by my kingdom hast thou—by my sword,
Yea. Now speak on.
DEBON.
Yet hope—or honour—saith
I did not ill to trust the blood of Brute
Within thee. Not prince Hector’s sovereign soul,
The light of all thy lineage, more abhorred
Treason than all his days did Brute my lord.
My trust shall rest not in thee less than whole.
CAMBER.
Speak, then: too long thou falterest nigh the goal.
DEBON.
There is a bower built fast beside a ford
In Essex, held in sure and secret ward
Of woods and walls and waters, still and sole
As love could choose for harbourage: there the king
Keeps close from all men now these seven years since
The light wherein he lives: and there hath she
Borne him a maiden child more sweet than spring.
CAMBER.
A child her daughter? there now hidden?
DEBON.
Prince,
What ails thee?
CAMBER.
Nought. This river’s name?
DEBON.
The Ley.
CAMBER.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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