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Updated: June 3, 2025
She: Vengeance is but for the weak of soul, 'tis only the strong can forgive. Myself: What of my sacred vow? What of my many prayers for vengeance? She: Empty breath! Myself: Dare you say so? She: I dare more, for lying here with Death all about us I tell you, Martin Conisby, despite your size and strength, you are no better than a pitiful, peevish child "
"Nay, first will I do that which brought me!" and she showed the key of my gyves. "Let be!" I cried, "I seek no freedom at your hands let be, I say!" "As you will!" says she, gently. "So endeth my hope of righting a great wrong. I have humbled myself to you to-night, Martin Conisby.
So came I and, reaching it down, drew it from the scabbard and saw the blade very bright as it had been well cared for. And graven on the forte of the blade was the Conisby blazon and the legend: ROUSE ME NOT. O willow, willow, willow! And O the green willow my garland shall be!"
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