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THE PRINCESS;
Your captive, yet my father wills not war:
But, Prince, the question of your troth remains;
And there's a downright honest meaning in her:
She ask'd but space and fairplay for her scheme;
She prest and prest it on me; life! I felt
That she was half-right talking of her wrongs;
And I'll stand by her. Waive your claim, or else
Decide it here: why not? we are three to three.'
But, Prince, the question of your troth remains;
And there's a downright honest meaning in her:
She ask'd but space and fairplay for her scheme;
She prest and prest it on me; life! I felt
That she was half-right talking of her wrongs;
And I'll stand by her. Waive your claim, or else
Decide it here: why not? we are three to three.'
I lagg'd in answer loth to strike her kin,
And cleave the rift of difference deeper yet;
Till one of those two brothers, half aside
And fingering at the hair about his lip,
To prick us on to combat 'Three to three?
But such a three to three were three to one.'
A boast that clench'd his purpose like a blow!
For fiery-short was Cyril's counter-scoff,
And sharp I answer'd, touch'd upon the sense
Where idle boys are cowards to their shame,
And tipt with sportive malice to and fro
And cleave the rift of difference deeper yet;
Till one of those two brothers, half aside
And fingering at the hair about his lip,
To prick us on to combat 'Three to three?
But such a three to three were three to one.'
A boast that clench'd his purpose like a blow!
For fiery-short was Cyril's counter-scoff,
And sharp I answer'd, touch'd upon the sense
Where idle boys are cowards to their shame,
And tipt with sportive malice to and fro
