And even now a shudder thrills my soul As though some ugly thing I had committed For which ’tis true the lip may lack a name But not the conscience the implanted sense. Yea, if I held that trash, that Dead Man’s Ring Thrust on my hand by you, nor yet in wrath Pitched it before your feet; and if instead I used its power once more for speedy flight, What checked the act was shame I felt for her, For her I’d spare the shocked recoil, for her The eternal crypt of shadow round her Being, Not you--forgive my fevered wish--the deed. KAN. You are a fool! GYGES. A fool! It drove me forth As though, if still I tarried there, a sense, A newer, purer, must in her awaken, The self-same sense that woke in Artemis Before Actaeon’s scan, that must betray To woman, as to goddess, what had passed. I’ll flee not after murder in such mind. KAN. Murder--Nay, nay! GYGES. Who knows? The gods’ aversion Is on polluted heads. Oh, what if now The golden Aphrodite, deep-offended, Were forced t’ avert her from her dearest daughter, Because a stranger eye had ’filed the pure! She’s loath to do’t; she lingers, for she hopes The swoop of retribution follows on. Goddess, remit no smile! I bring the due! KAN. There spake the Grecian! GYGES. Sire, vouchsafe to me A last request. KAN. A thousand, if you will, But not the last request; that comes too soon. GYGES. Take me as sacrifice! I make you gift Of my young life--turn not the gift away! Still many a splendid year I count as mine And every one will swell your own if you Will but accept them at Zeus’ altar-stone. Then follow; let me hold to you one hand In the firm grip of pact, and with the other Thrust me clean through by custom’s holy ordinance; With rapture, yea, with smiles it shall be done. KAN. I almost rue the deed! Here rant and rave, Within suspicion--Bah! GYGES. Why vacillate? How oft have young men in free-willed devotion Libated their own blood to some war-chief What time death’s shadow merely fringed his peril, How oft been spent for some stark maniac’s rage! Why not this once then for a happy soul, Why not for you, whereby long time to come You may be blest and blessing among men? You rob me nowise. What have I, what can I Accomplish? Speak! But you win much indeed, For envious are the gods, and it may chance The snipping shears o’ the jealous-minded Parcae May sever all too soon life’s golden cord The while their malice stretches out my span. Outstrip their will; give joy the unbroken length She meant should cling to pain. Do it forthwith! KAN.