"'We need allies--in you allies we call; 94 Your shores oppose the Cymrian's mountain sway; Your armed men stand idle in your hall; Your vessels rot within your crowded bay: Send three full squadrons to the Mercian bands-- Send seven tall war-ships to the Cymrian lands. "'If this you grant, as from the old renown 95 Of Vandal valour, Saxon men believe, Our arms will solve all question to your crown; If not, the heirs you banish we receive; But one rude maxim Saxon bluntness knows-- We serve our friends, who are not friends are foes! "'Thus speaks King Crida.'" Not the manner much 96 Of that brief speech wise Ludovick admired; But still the matter did so nearly touch The great state-objects recently desired, That the sage brows dismiss'd in haste the frown, And lips sore-smiling gulp'd resentment down. Fair words he gave, and friendly hints of aid, 97 And pray'd the envoy in his halls to rest; And more, in truth, to please the earl had said, But that the sojourn of the earlier guest (For not the parting of the Cymrian known) Forbade his heart too plainly to be shown. But ere a long and oily speech had closed, 98 Astutio, who the hall, when it begun, Had left, to seek the prince (whom he proposed, If yet the tidings to his ear had won Of his foe's envoy, by some smooth pretext To lull), came back with visage much perplext-- And whisper'd Ludovick--"The King has fled!" 99 The Vandal stammer'd, stared, but versed in all The quick resources of a wily head, That out of evil still a good could call, He did but pause, with more effect to wing The stone that chance thus fitted to his sling. "Saxon," he said, "thus far we had premised, 100 And if still wavering, not our heart in fault. Three days ago, the Cymrian king, disguised, First drank our cup, and tasted of our salt, And hence our zeal to aid you we represt, Deeming your foe was still the Vandal's guest. "Lo, while we speak, the saints the bond release; 101 Arthur hath gone from us;--the host is free." "Arthur--the Cymrian!" cried the envoy. "Peace; In deeds, not words, men's love the Saxons see: Gone!--whither wends he? But a word I need-- Leave to the rest my bloodhounds and my steed." Dumb sate the Vandal, dumb with fear and shame: 102 No slave to virtue, but its shade was he; A tower of strength is in an honest name-- 'Tis wise to seem what oft 'tis dull to be! A kingly host a kingly guest betray! The chafing Saxon brook'd not that delay--