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).  Heark, you unsanctified fool, while I set out our story.  We found it, this side the North park wall which it had climbed to pluck nectarines from the alley.  Heark again!  There was a nectarine in its hand when we found it, and the naughty brick that slipped from the coping beneath its foot and so caused its death, lies now under the wall for the King to see.

The King (above).  The King to see!  Why should he?  Who’s the man?

Gow.  That is your tale.  Swerve from it by so much as the breadth of my dagger and here’s your instant reward.  You heard not, saw not, and by the Horns of ninefold-cuckolded Jupiter you thought not nor dreamed not anything more or other!

The King.  Ninefold-cuckolded Jupiter.  That’s a rare oath!  Shall we look closer?

Ferdinand.  Not yet, my Lord! (I cannot hear him breathe.)

Gardener.  The North park wall?  It was so.  Plucking nectarines.  It shall be.  But how shall I say if any ask why our Lady the Queen—­

Gow (stabs him).  Thus!  Hie after the Prince and tell him y’are the first fruits of his nectarine tree.  Bleed there behind the laurels.