Come close, and look upon me. Child or man,— I know not how to call thee, being my child, Who know not how myself am called, nor can— God witness—tell thee what should she be styled Who bears the brand and burden set on her That man hath set on me—the lands are wild Whence late I bade thee hither, swift of spur As he that rides to guard his mother’s life; Thou hast found nought loathlier there, nought hate-fuller In all the wilds that seethe with fluctuant strife, Than here besets thine advent. Son, if thou Be son of mine, and I thy father’s wife— MADAN. If heaven be heaven, and God be God. GUENDOLEN. As now We know not if they be. Give me thine hand. Thou hast mine eyes beneath thy father’s brow,— And therefore bears it not the traitor’s brand. Swear—But I would not bid thee swear in vain Nor bind thee ere thine own soul understand, Ere thine own heart be molten with my pain, To do such work for bitter love of me As haply, knowing my heart, thou wert not fain— Even thou—to take upon thee—bind on thee— Set all thy soul to do or die. MADAN. I swear. GUENDOLEN. And though thou sworest not, yet the thing should be. The burden found for me so sore to bear Why should I lay on any hand but mine, Or bid thine own take part therein, and wear A father’s blood upon it—here—for sign? Ay, now thou pluck’st it forth of hers to whom Thou sworest and gavest it plighted. O Locrine, Thy seed it was that sprang within my womb, Thine, and none other—traitor born and liar, False-faced, false-tongued—the fire of hell consume Me, thee, and him for ever! MADAN. Hath my sire Wronged thee? GUENDOLEN. Thy sire? my lord? the flower of men? How? MADAN. For thy tongue was tipped but now with fire— With fire of hell—against him. GUENDOLEN. Now, and then, Are twain; thou knowest not women, how their tongue Takes fire, and straight learns patience: Guendolen Is there no more than crownless woman, wrung At heart with anguish, and in utterance mad As even the meanest whom a snake hath stung So near the heart that all the pulse it had Grows palpitating poison. Wilt thou know Whence? MADAN. Could I heal it, then mine own were glad. GUENDOLEN.