MADAN.

Wert thou wise,
Mother, thy tongue had chosen of two things one -
Silence, or speech.

GUENDOLEN.

Speech had I chosen, my son,
I had wronged thee--yea, perchance I have wronged thine ears
Too far, to say so much.

MADAN.

Nay, these are tears
That gather toward thine eyelids now. Thou hast broken
Silence--if now thy speech die down unspoken,
Thou dost me wrong indeed--but more than mine
The wrong thou dost thyself is.

GUENDOLEN.

And Locrine -
Were not thy sire wronged likewise of me?

MADAN.

Yea.