Lay of Kushta, Quartozain 47

Cecil strode to the fore among them, to speak as their voice

And all the others drew back that he might be better heard

But before he began the King roared a bitter laugh

And cried, Ah Moneos! Here, indeed, is a sorry choice

Come to you august agents to bring you the merry word

Abdication; or perish in open war with your staff

And kinfolk; a fine kingly deal which I espied as soon

As news of your Emperor’s happy coronation reach’d

Bror. And you brought with it gifts! A prickly pear; I’d not guess

It better to send them back, or keep them, or see them strewn

On high mountainside forever. Come now! I’d not have breach’d

Imperial protocol on this point! Make your address!

Then slumped Moneos breathless in his great golden chair

But though all silent, he shouted volumes with his dark glare.