"But in the night, which was with wind
And burning dust, again I creep
Down, having fever, for a drink.
"Now, meanwhile had my brethren found
The water-pitcher, where it stood
Behind the door upon the ground,
And called my mother; and they all,
As they were thirsty, and the night
Most sultry, drained the pitcher there;
That they sate with it, in my sight,
Their lips still wet, when I came down.
"Now mark! I, being fevered, sick,
(Most unblest also), at that sight
Brake forth, and cursed them—dost thou hear?—
One was my mother.——Now do right!"
But my lord mused a space, and said,—
"Send him away, sirs, and make on!
It is some madman," the king said.
As the king bade, so was it done.
The morrow, at the self-same hour,
In the king's path, behold, the man,
Not kneeling, sternly fixed! He stood
Right opposite, and thus began,
Frowning grim down: "Thou wicked king,
Most deaf where thou shouldst most give ear!
What! must I howl in the next world,
Because thou wilt not listen here?
"What! wilt thou pray, and get thee grace,
And all grace shall to me be grudged?
Nay, but I swear, from this thy path
I will not stir till I be judged!"
