_King._ You will call it no great matter. Three days ago I yielded to the outcry of my courtiers, Bishops, soldiers, and makers of the law, Who long had thought it against their dignity For a mere man of words to sit among them At my own table; and when the meal was spread I ordered Seanchan to good company, But to a lower table; and when he pleaded The poet’s right, established when the world Was first established, I said that I was King And made and unmade rights at my own pleasure. And that it was the men who ruled the world, And not the men who sang to it, who should sit Where there was the most honour. My courtiers, Bishops, soldiers, and makers of the law Shouted approval, and amid that noise Seanchan went out, and from that hour to this, Although there is good food and drink beside him, Has eaten nothing. If a man is wronged, Or thinks that he is wronged, and will lie down Upon another’s threshold until he dies, The common people for all time to come Will raise a heavy cry against that threshold, Even though it is the King’s. He lies there now Perishing; he is calling against my majesty, That old custom that has no meaning in it, And as he perishes, my name in the world Is perishing also. I cannot give way Because I am King, because if I give way My nobles would call me a weakling, and it may be The very throne be shaken; but should you That are his friends speak to him and persuade him To turn his mouth from the ill-savouring grave And eat good food, he shall not lack my favour; For I will give plough-land and grazing-land, Or all but anything he has set his heart on. It is not all because of my good name I’d have him live, for I have found him a man That might well hit the fancy of a king Banished out of his country, or a woman’s, Or any other’s that can judge a man For what he is. But I that sit a throne, And take my measure from the needs of the state, Call his wild thought that over-runs the measure, Making words more than deeds, and his proud will That would unsettle all, most mischievous, And he himself a most mischievous man. _Senias._ King, whether you did right or wrong in this Let the King say, for all that I need say Is that there’s nothing that cries out for death In the withholding of that ancient right, And that I will persuade him. Your own words Had been enough persuasion were it not That he is lost in dreams that hunger makes, And therefore heedless, or lost in heedless sleep. _King._ I leave him to your love, that it may promise Plough-lands and grass-lands, jewels and silken wear, Or anything but that old right of the poets. [_He goes out. The PUPILS, who have been standing perfectly quiet, all turn towards SEANCHAN, and move a step nearer._