best,
  Yea, would have help’d him to it:  and all at once
  They hated her, who took no thought of them,
  But answer’d in low voice, her meek head yet
  Drooping, “I pray you of your courtesy,
  He being as he is, to let me be.”

    She spake so low he hardly heard her speak,
  But like a mighty patron, satisfied
  With what himself had done so graciously,
  Assumed that she had thank’d him, adding, “Yea,
  Eat and be glad, for I account you mine.”

    She answer’d meekly, “How should I be glad
  Henceforth in all the world at anything,
  Until my lord arise and look upon me?”

    Here the huge Earl cried out upon her talk,
  As all but empty heart and weariness
  And sickly nothing; suddenly seized on her,
  And bare her by main violence to the board,
  And thrust the dish before her, crying, “Eat.” 
  “No, no,” said Enid, vext, “I will not eat
  Till yonder man upon the bier arise,
  And eat with me.”  “Drink, then,” he answer’d.  “Here!”
  (And fill’d a horn with wine and held it to her.)
  “Lo!  I, myself, when flush’d with fight, or hot,
  God’s curse, with anger—­often I myself,
  Before I well have drunken, scarce can eat: 
  Drink therefore and the wine will change your will.”

    “Not so,” she cried, “By Heaven, I will not drink
  Till my dear lord arise and bid me do it,
  And drink with me; and if he rise no more,
  I will not look at wine until I die.”

    At this he turned all red and paced his hall,
  Now gnaw’d his under, now his upper lip,
  And coming up close to her, said at last: 
  “Girl, for I see ye scorn my courtesies,
  Take warning:  yonder man is surely dead;
  And I compel all creatures to my will. 
  Not eat nor drink?  And wherefore wail for one,
  Who put your beauty to this flout and scorn
  By dressing it in rags?  Amazed am I,
  Beholding how ye butt against my wish,
  That I forbear you thus:  cross me no more. 
  At least put off to please me this poor gown,
  This silken rag, this beggar-woman’s weed: 
  I love that beauty should go beautifully: 
  For see ye not my gentlewomen here,
  How gay, how suited to the house of one
  Who loves that beauty should go beautifully? 
  Rise therefore; robe yourself in this:  obey.”

    He spoke, and one among his gentlewomen
  Display’d a splendid silk of foreign loom,
  Where like a shoaling sea the lovely blue
  Play’d into green, and thicker down the front
  With jewels than the sward with drops of dew,
  When all night long a cloud clings to the hill,
  And with the dawn ascending lets the day
  Strike where it clung:  so thickly shone the gems.

    But Enid answer’d, harder to be moved
  Than hardest tyrants in their day of power,
  With life-long injuries burning unavenged,
  And now their hour has come:  and Enid said: