And ply not The rack for reasons. Be not overhasty To think me wrong, although I shut my lips, Because a “why” of thus and thus much drams Is lacking me when you would weigh my word. It’s true enough, if birds refuse to fly As pleases you, when questioned by your seer, That you can launch a single shot from bow And scatter them, as many have done in wrath. But does the ill-luck they portended come The less for that? Then do not say to me, “What would you? He is valiant, good, and true!” I know’t myself, nay more--would swear the same, Yet all the more I speak my warning word:-- Be on your guard with Gyges! [KANDAULES _laughs_. Ah, I thought it. I tell you once again--be on your guard! Yet take my words aright. I say as well He’ll never stretch his hand to grasp your crown, He’ll spend his very latest drop of blood In your defence, and yet he is for you More dangerous than all who yesterday With looks and words were hatching to your hurt Their plots. Oho, they’ll never do you harm As long as he’s not here. Then get his riddance Soon as you can, for if he bides much longer And, wearing all the garlands he has won, Goes up and down among them as he does, There’s much can happen. KAN. That means? THOAS. Why, I see it. They whisper and compare, they shrug their shoulders, And clenching fists, have a sly nod with each other. You’ve given them all too sore offence, and if The Greek should feel some morning when he wakens His step go sudden-stumbling o’er a crown Set by some hand at night to catch his feet, Should he still spurn it?--Is the man a fool? He does not rob you of it, that’s enough. Your heir he can be and your heir he will be, His stars ascend, you do not dream how high, Else would they mock him for a zither-twanger And they’d believe, as I myself believe, That only birds possess the songful throat Whose claws are clipped by shears that know their work, But now they deem him, since he’s apt at song, If not yet Phoebus’ self, at least his son. KAN. That mazes you? Why, he has conquered them. How could sheer mortal be their conqueror? THOAS. Still, still! Yet this much stands, he’s good and true. Then hear my words and all may yet go well Unless the gods should send a chastisement And you next year make them and us at one. [_Enter_ GYGES. He comes. Was this vain talk? Sire, do not smile. ’Tis just on walls saltpetre-crystals form, Then wherefore not the salt o’ the time on me? [_He retreats into the background._ KAN.