Put forth your hands, brave chiefs; put forth your hands;
And he who draws the sable lot of death,
Full speedy be his doom!
(A long pause; the chiefs still look upon one another, none of them offering to step forward to the urn.)
Doth but one death contain and many lives,
And shrink ye from it, brave and valiant Thanes?
Then lots shall first be cast, who shall the first
Thrust in his hand into this pot of terrors.
Eth. (stepping forth.) No, thou rude servant of a gentle master,
Doing disgrace to thy much honour'd garb,
This shall not be: I am the eldest chief,
And I of right should stand the foremost here.
(putting his hand into the urn.)
What heaven appoints me welcome!
Sel. (putting in his hand.)
I am the next; heaven send me what it lists!
First Th. (putting in his hand.)
Here also let me take. If that the race
Of noble Cormac shall be sunk in night,
How small a thing determines!
Sec. Th. (putting in his hand.)
On which shall fix my grasp? (hesitating) or this? or this?
No cursed thing! whatever thou art I'll have thee.
