_Seanchan._ If you are a poet, Cry out that the King’s money would not buy, Nor the high circle consecrate his head, If poets had never christened gold, and even The moon’s poor daughter, that most whey-faced metal, Precious; and cry out that none alive Would ride among the arrows with high heart Or scatter with an open hand, had not Our heady craft commended wasteful virtues. And when that story’s finished, shake your coat Where the little jewels gleam on it, and say A herdsman sitting where the pigs had trampled Made up a song about enchanted kings, Who were so finely dressed one fancied them All fiery, and women by the churn And children by the hearth caught up the song And murmured it until the tailors heard it. _Monk._ How proud these poets are! It was full time To break their pride. _Seanchan._ And I would have you say That when we are driven out we come again Like a great wind that runs out of the waste To blow the tables flat. _Chamberlain._ If you’d eat something You’d find you have these thoughts because you are hungry. _Seanchan._ And when you have told them all these things, lie down On this bare threshold and starve until the King Restore to us the ancient right of the poets. _Aileen._ Let’s come away. There’s no use talking to him, For he’s resolved to die, and that’s no loss: We will go watch the hurley. _Monk._ You should obey The King’s commandment and not question it, For it is God himself who has made him king. _Essa._ Let’s hear his answer to the monk. _Seanchan._ Stoop down, For there is something I would say to you. Has that wild God of yours that was so wild When you’d but lately taken the King’s pay, Grown any tamer? He gave you all much trouble Being so unruly and inconsiderate. _Aileen._ What does he mean? _Monk._ Let go my habit, Seanchan. _Seanchan._ Or it may be you have persuaded him To chirp between two dishes when the King Sits down to table. _Monk._ Let go my habit, sir. What do I care about your insolent dreams. _Seanchan._ And maybe he has learnt to sing quite softly Because loud singing would disturb the King Who is sitting drowsily among his friends After the table has been cleared---- _Monk._ Let go. [_SEANCHAN has been dragged some feet, clinging to the MONK’S habit._ _Seanchan._ Not yet; you did not think that hungry hands Could be so strong. They are not civil yet-- I’d know if you have taught him to eat bread From the King’s hand, and perch upon his finger. I think he perches on the King’s strong hand, But it may be that he is still too wild. You must not weary in your work; a King Is often weary and he needs a God To be a comfort to him.