MADAN.

MADAN.

Shame then were it none Though men should liken me to him?

GUENDOLEN.

GUENDOLEN.

My son, I had rather see thee—see thy brave bright head, Strong limbs, clear eyes—drop here before me dead.

MADAN.

MADAN.

If he were true man, wherefore?

GUENDOLEN.

GUENDOLEN.

False was he; No coward indeed, but faithless, trothless—we Hold therefore, as thou sayest, his princely name Unprincely—dead in honour—quick in shame.

MADAN.

MADAN.

And his to mine thou likenest?

GUENDOLEN.

GUENDOLEN.

Thine? to thine? God rather strike thy life as dark as mine Than tarnish thus thine honour! For to me Shameful it seems—I know not if it be— For men to lie, and smile, and swear, and lie, And bear the gods of heaven false witness. I Can hold not this but shameful.

MADAN.

MADAN.

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