No more ado, go fetch me him, It shall be as I say: And if that I do speak the word, How dare ye once say nay?
I will go fetch him to your grace; But so, I trust, it shall not be.
For fear of my displeasure great, Go fetch him unto me. Is he gone? Now, by the gods, I will do as I say; My lord, therefore, fill me some wine, I heartily you pray; For I must drink to make my brain Somewhat intoxicate: When that the wine is in my head, O, trimly I can prate!
Here is the cup with filled wine, Thereof to take repast.
Give it me to drink it off, And see no wine be waste: [_Drink._ Once again enlarge this cup, For I must it still taste:[240] [_Drink._ By the gods, I think, of pleasant wine I cannot take my fill. Now drink is in, give me my bow, And arrows from sir knight; At heart of child I mean to shoot, Hoping to cleave it right.
Behold (O king) where he doth come, His infant young in hand.
O mighty king, your grace behest With sorrow I have scann’d, And brought my child fro mother’s knee, Before you to appear: And she thereof no whit doth know, That he in place is here.
Set him up my mark to be, I will shoot at his heart.
I beseech your grace not so to do, Set this pretence[241] apart. Farewell, my dear and loving babe; Come, kiss thy father dear; A grievous sight to me it is, To see thee slain even here. Is this the gain now from the king For giving counsel good, Before my face with such despite To spill my son’s heart-blood? O heavy day to me this is And mother in like case.
O father, father, wipe your face, I see the tears run from your eye: My mother is at home sewing of a band; Alas, dear father, why do you cry?
Before me as a mark now let him stand; I will shoot at him my mind to fulfil.
Alas, alas! father, will you me kill? Good Master King, do not shoot at me, My mother loves me best of all.
I have despatched him, down he doth fall; [_Shoot._ As right as a line his heart I have hit: Nay, thou shall see, Praxaspes, stranger news yet. My knight, with speed his heart cut out, And give it unto me.
It shall be done (O mighty king) With all celerity.
My lord Praxaspes, this had not been, But your tongue must be walking; To the king of correction You must needs be talking.
No correction (my lord), but counsel for the best.