University of Virginia Library

Simus
SIMUS
This boy grows restive in his leading-strings.
Mistrusts me, is grown dangerous, wants to rule.
I rule the mother, and with her I fall;
And when this boy shall feel his baby-feet
A little surer on the ground, we pack;
And we that ruled so firm and sat so high,
Are cast aside like worn-out hunting hounds.
Shall it be so, child prince, with thy desire?
Shall I, the warrior, kneel at this boy's feet,
And say, “My lord, if I have served thee well,
Lend me a cottage. I grow stiff and old,
But fain would crawl my days out somewhere near,
Whence I could see thee rule and bless thee ruling”—
Nay, let Olympus crack and each god's throne
Tumble to Hades, if I do not hate thee
In thy mute still resistance to my sway,
And the reproach of that pale boyish face;
I have no cause to love thee, and my hate
Shall be the hatred of a god that slays
And leaves no token. And I love my power,
As the great purple Zeus loves his, when one
Would filch it and he wakens; and a mist
Of wrath makes tremble the ambrosial courts.
Touch a god's power, he throws his thunderbolt,
And I launch mine, so safe that none can trace
The hand that dealt it. And all men shall cry,
Shame on these traitor envoys in whose train
Orestes went and never came again,
Under their keeping hostage. Crannon slew
The sire in open fight. Conclusion good,
That, finding easier way to rid the son,
They'll not be so nice-fingered to refrain
For a poor oath or twain; when one fat bull
Having his throat cut duly to the god,
Sops up the perjury of it.