A MEDLEY.
33
Let no man enter in on pain of death?'
‘And if I had’ he answer’d ‘who could think
The softer Adams of your Academe,
O sister, Sirens tho’ they be, were such
As chanted on the blanching bones of men?'
'But you will find it otherwise’ she said.
'You jest; ill jesting with edge-tools! I am bound
To tell her. O, she has an iron will,
An axelike edge unturnable, our Head,
The Princess.’ ‘Well then, Psyche, take my life,
And nail me like a weasel on a grange
For warning; bury me beside the gate,
And cut this epitaph above my bones;
Here lies a brother by a sister slain,
All for the common good of womankind.'
'Let me die too’ said Cyril ‘having seen
And heard the Lady Psyche.’
‘And if I had’ he answer’d ‘who could think
The softer Adams of your Academe,
O sister, Sirens tho’ they be, were such
As chanted on the blanching bones of men?'
'But you will find it otherwise’ she said.
'You jest; ill jesting with edge-tools! I am bound
To tell her. O, she has an iron will,
An axelike edge unturnable, our Head,
The Princess.’ ‘Well then, Psyche, take my life,
And nail me like a weasel on a grange
For warning; bury me beside the gate,
And cut this epitaph above my bones;
Here lies a brother by a sister slain,
All for the common good of womankind.'
'Let me die too’ said Cyril ‘having seen
And heard the Lady Psyche.’
I struck in:
'Albeit so mask'd, Madam, I love the truth;
'Albeit so mask'd, Madam, I love the truth;
