MADAN. Nay—I stand A man thy son before thee. GUENDOLEN. And a bold Man: is thine heart flesh, or a burning brand Lit to burn up and turn for thee to gold The kingship of thy sire? MADAN. Why, blessed or banned, We thrive alike—thou knowest it—why, but now I said so,—scarce the glass has dropped one sand— And thou didst smile on me—and all thy brow Smiled. GUENDOLEN. Thou dost love then, thou, thy mother yet— Me, dost thou love a little? None but thou There is to love me; for the gods forget— Nor shall one hear of me a prayer again; Yea, none of all whose thrones in heaven are set Shall hear, nor one of all the sons of men. MADAN. What wouldst thou have? GUENDOLEN. Thou knowest. MADAN. I know not. Speak. GUENDOLEN. Have I kept silence all this while? MADAN. What then? What boots it though thy word, thine eye, thy cheek, Seem all one fire together, if that fire Sink, and thy face change, and thine heart wax weak, To hear what deed should slake thy sore desire And satiate thee with healing? This alone— Except thine heart be softer toward my sire Still than a maid’s who hears a wood-dove moan And weeps for pity—this should comfort thee: His death. GUENDOLEN. And sight of Madan on his throne? MADAN. What ailed thy wits, mother, to send for me? GUENDOLEN. Yet shalt thou not go back. MADAN. Why, what should I Do here, where vengeance has not heart to be And wrath dies out in weeping? Let it die— And let me go. GUENDOLEN. I did not bid thee spare. MADAN. Speak then, and bid me smite. GUENDOLEN. Thy father? MADAN. Ay— If thus it please my mother. GUENDOLEN. Dost thou dare This? MADAN. Nay, I lust not after empire so That for mine own hand I should haply care To take this deed upon it: but the blow, Thou sayest, that speeds my father forth of life, Speeds too my mother forth of living woe That till he dies may die not. If his wife Set in his son’s right hand the sword to slay— No poison brewed of hell, no treasonous knife— The sword that walks and shines and smites by day, Not on his hand who takes the sword shall cleave The blood that clings on hers who gives it. GUENDOLEN.