But churls should bow to right divine of kings, for good or ill,
And bare their necks to axe or rope, if 'twere thy royal will?
Ah, hadst thou, Richard, yet to learn the very meanest thing
That crawls the earth in self-defence would turn upon a king?
Yet deem not 'twas the hope of life which led me to the deed:
I'd freely lose a thousand lives to make thee, tyrant, bleed!--
Ay! mark me well, canst thou not see somewhat of old Bertrand?
My father good! my brothers dear!--all murdered by thy hand!
Yes, one escaped; he saw thee strike, he saw his kindred die,
And breathed a vow, a burning vow of vengeance;--it was I!
I've lived; but all my life has been a memory of the slain;
I've lived but to revenge them,--and I have not lived in vain!
I read it in thy haggard face, the hour is drawing nigh
When power and wealth can aid thee not,--when, Richard, thou must DIE!
What mean those pale, convulsive lips? What means that shrinking brow?
Ha! Richard of the lion-heart, thou art a coward now!
Now call thy hireling ruffians; bid them bring the cord and rack,
And bid them strain these limbs of mine until the sinews crack;
And bid them tear the quivering flesh, break one by one each bone;--
Thou canst not break my spirit, though thou mayst compel a groan.
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