Part 7 (2/2)

THE KING'S SON.

”Daughter, daughter, marry no man, Though a king's son come to woo, If he be not more than blessing or ban To the secret soul of you.”

”'Tis the King's son, indeed, I ween, And he left me even but now, And he shall make me a dazzling queen, With a gold crown on my brow.”

”And are you one that a golden crown, Or the l.u.s.t of a name can lure?

You had better wed with a country clown, And keep your young heart pure.”

”Mother, the King has sworn, and said That his son shall wed but me; And I must gang to the prince's bed, Or a traitor I shall be.”

”Oh, what care you for an old man's wrath?

Or what care you for a king?

I had rather you fled on an outlaw's path, A rebel, a hunted thing.”

”Mother, it is my father's will, For the King has promised him fair A goodly earldom of hollow and hill, And a coronet to wear.”

”Then woe is worth a father's name, For it names your dourest foe!

I had rather you came the child of shame Than to have you fathered so.”

”Mother, I shall have gold enow, Though love be never mine, To buy all else that the world can show Of good and fair and fine.”

”Oh, what care you for a prince's gold, Or the key of a kingdom's till?

I had rather see you a harlot bold That sins of her own free will.

”For I have been wife for the stomach's sake, And I know whereof I say; A harlot is sold for a pa.s.sing slake, But a wife is sold for aye.

”Body and soul for a lifetime sell, And the price of the sale shall be That you shall be harlot and slave as well Until Death set you free.”

LAURANA'S SONG. FOR ”A LADY OF VENICE.”

Who'll have the crumpled pieces of a heart?

Let him take mine!

Who'll give his whole of pa.s.sion for a part, And call't divine?

Who'll have the soiled remainder of desire?

Who'll warm his fingers at a burnt-out fire?

Who'll drink the lees of love, and cast i' the mire The n.o.bler wine?

Let him come here, and kiss me on the mouth, And have his will!

Love dead and dry as summer in the South When winds are still And all the leaf.a.ge shrivels in the heat!

Let him come here and linger at my feet Till he grow weary with the over-sweet, And die, or kill.

LAUNA DEE.

Weary, oh, so weary With it all!