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.