To These Words I Beheld No Tongue - Theatre Of Tragedy

Whether the thoned Monarch weareth the crown,

Which I know not whether to his belongeth;

Doth he hence the sceptre sway?

Seasoneth he justice?

-

Daresay I he doth not,

Will he then use his sceptre as a wand?

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Where doth sit my awe?

— Trieth me conjure;

Perchance a spell?;

a reptile, a sullied hound?

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Is the gentle rain a quality of his?

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I bethink this fro my thoughts;

hitherto, about this,

I beheld to these words no tongue;

are the

Monarchs’s men his thralls or his servants?

-

Oft I waylay my tongue —

Those of which are withal by my gnarled heart not heed’d;

Or doth the trostle sing with more glee

At daybreak than a twilight?

-

Brawl not my imp, nor my cherub;

reserve my judgement —

Crave not the sword when the bodkin fro ere thine is;

That undiscover’d country;

be that

Of calamity, be that of joy, be that of apathy;

Tread not paths of new when those of old are

Far by an only single footstep;

walk, be it

On the left, on the right — be it the one which

Straight forward leadeth, the one of correct

I have as until now not heed’d any signs of!