CAMBER. CAMBER. Thou. GUENDOLEN. GUENDOLEN. Not I, Though I were cast out hence, cast off, discrowned, Abject, ungirt of all that guards me round, Naked. What villainous madness, knave and king, Is this that puts upon thy babbling tongue Poison? CAMBER. CAMBER. The truth is as a snake to sting That breathes ill news: but where its fang hath stung The very pang bids health and healing spring. God knows the grief wherewith my spirit is wrung— The spirit of thee so scorned, so misesteemed, So mocked with strange misprision and misdeemed Merciless, false, unbrotherly—to take Such task upon it as may burn thine heart With bitterer hatred of me that I spake What, had I held my peace and crept apart And tamed my soul to silence for thy sake And mercy toward the royal thing thou art, Chance haply might have made a fiery sword To slay thee with—slay thee, and spare thy lord. GUENDOLEN. GUENDOLEN. Worse had it done to slay my lord, and spare Me. Wilt thou now show mercy toward me? Then Strike with that sword mine heart through—if thou dare. All know thy tongue’s edge deadly. CAMBER. CAMBER. Guendolen, Thou seest me like a vassal bound to bear All bitter words that bite the hearts of men From thee, so be it this please thy wrath. I stand Slave of thy tongue and subject of thine hand, And pity thee. Take, if thou wilt, my head; Give it my brother. Thou shalt hear me speak First, though the soothfast word that hangs unsaid As yet, being spoken,—albeit this hand be weak And faint this heart, thou sayest—should strike thee dead Even with that rose of wrath on brow and cheek. GUENDOLEN. GUENDOLEN.
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