GUENDOLEN.

Nay, save when heaven would cross him in the fight,
He bare him, say the minstrels, as a knight -
Yea, like thy father.

MADAN.

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

GUENDOLEN.

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

MADAN.

If he were true man, wherefore?

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.