all--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap--
Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf-rib clear--
But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side
Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter--this is Fear!

GOW'S WATCH

ACT II. SCENE 2

_The pavilion in the Gardens. Enter Ferdinand and the King_

_Ferdinand_. Your tiercel's too long at hack. Sir.
He's no eyass
But a passage-hawk that footed ere we caught him.
Dangerously free o' the air. Faith, were he mine
(As mine's the glove he binds to for his tirings)
I'd fly him with a make-hawk. He's in yarak
Plumed to the very point. So manned, so weathered!
Give him the firmament God made him for.
And what shall take the air of him?

_The King_. A young wing yet.
Bold--overbold on the perch, but, think you,
Ferdinand,
He can endure the tall skies yonder? Cozen
Advantage out of the teeth of the hurricane?
Choose his own mate against the lammer-geier?
Ride out a night-long tempest, hold his pitch
Between the lightning and the cloud it leaps from,
Never too pressed to kill?

_Ferdinand_. I'll answer for him.
Bating all parable, I know the Prince.
There's a bleak devil in the young, my Lord;
God put it there to save 'em from their elders
And break their father's heart, but bear them scatheless
Through mire and thorns and blood if need be.
Think
What our prime saw! Such glory, such achievements
As now our children, wondering at, examine
Themselves to see if they shall hardly equal.
But what cared we while we wrought the wonders?
Nothing!
The rampant deed contented.

_The King_. Little enough, God knows! But afterwards? After--
There comes the reckoning. I would save him that.

_Ferdinand_. Save him dry scars that ache of winter-nights.
Worn out self-pity and as much of knowledge
As makes old men fear judgment? Then loose him--loose him,
A' God's name loose him to adventure early!
And trust some random pike, or half-backed horse,
Besides what's caught in Italy, to save him.

_The King_. I know. I know. And yet
... What stirs in the garden?

_Enter Gow and a Gardener bearing the Prince's body_

_Ferdinand_.(Gods give me patience!) Gow and a gardener
Bearing some load along in the dusk to the dunghill.
Nay--a dead branch--But as I said, the Prince----

_The King. _They've set it down. Strange that
they work so late.

_Gow (setting down the body)_.