lore your love,
Then let me die; my life I do not prize
If loathsome I appear in your sweet eyes.

ALT.

Hear reason, Prince, nor longer tempt the gods.
Throw up the game,--too fearful are the odds.
With honour canst thou quit this high divan,
For thou'st done more than any other man.
Yet two successes serve not, though they're glorious,
Unless for the third time thou be victorious.
And thou, my domineering, wilful child,
Wilt not relent towards this youth? Be mild,
And graciously accept his suit.

TUR.

Relent!
I scorn his love,--his pity I resent.
The law prescribes three trials. Let's proceed,
And try if in the third he may succeed.

KAL.

The gods decide! "Or death or Turandot!"

TUR. (_angrily_.) Death--death will be your well-deserved lot.

PANT.

Keep silence in the court! Ahem! ahem!
(_aside_) Now for some crackjaw, mystic apophthegm.

TUR. (_rises and declaims_)--

What is that thing, held cheap as dust,
Yet honor'd by the Emperor's hand?
'Tis made to pierce, with sword's keen thrust,
But sheds no blood, tho' wounds like sand,
In number deep inflicts; robs none;
Enriches thousands; rules the earth;
Makes life with ease and smoothness run;
Has founded kingdoms; ended dearth;
Most ancient cities it has built,
But ne'er caused war, nor war's sad guilt.
Answer my question (_unveils_). Look me in the face,
Avow you're vanquished and deserve disgrace.

KAL. (_gazes on her with rapture._)

Refulgent loveliness! Ecstatic bliss!

PANT, (_shaking him._)

Collect your senses! Don't take on like this!

ALT.

Alas, I fear his intellect is puzzled;
He's mute,--his tongue seems tied,--his lips tight muzzled.

PANT.

Were't not for dignity, into the kitchen,
I'd rush a glass of something short to fetch 'un.

TUR. (_who has returned_ KALAF'S. _fixed gaze_)--

Unhappy wretch! thou'rt silent; thou must die.

KAL. (_recovers himself, and bows to_ TURANDOT _with extreme composure_)--

'Twas but your beauty dazed my wondering eye.
My mind can grasp the meaning of the Sphinx,
Tho' it's as puzzling as the "Babe of Ginx."
The iron thing which wounds yet sheds no blood;
That rules the earth, and gives man wealth and food;
On which each year the Khan doth place his hand,
To typify his reign o'er China's land;
In short, the instrument your riddle mentions
Is one of mankind's earliest inventions.
If I mistake not, Hm--ha--Let me see!
"_The plough_" is meant by Riddle Num