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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Whosoe'er thou art," he said, "and whether of good or of evil, know that I am sworn for the time to be true companion to the Saracen whom thou holdest under thee; therefore, I pray thee to let him arise, else I will do battle with thee in his behalf."
And whosoe'er hates them hates, too, in truth, The chosen one of God. Thou hatest him, For thou revil'st my ancestors, and seek'st To lower their rank and vilify their fame. Think on thine evil deeds, against the day When in thy grave thou'lt lie, and that one, too, When thou shalt rise again, insulter of The Arabs, king of peoples on the earth."
"Nay," quoth old Adam o' the Dell presently, drawing a long breath and shaking his head as he spoke, "twoscore years and more have I shot shaft, and maybe not all times bad, but I shoot no more this day, for no man can match with yon stranger, whosoe'er he may be." Then he thrust his shaft into his quiver, rattling, and unstrung his bow without another word.
My safe conduct is so well assured that whosoe'er should wrong my guest it should cost him his life and all that he had, had he not more than good fortune! This on my knighthood and by the Blessed Maid, Our Lady!" But Sir Gawain, the Father of Adventure, who was wont to be received with honour, wist not that the knight whom he had slain was son to the lord of the castle.
Truly 'tis better by far in the wide-spread Danäid leaguer Robbing of guerdon achiev'd whosoe'er contradicts thee in presence! People-devouring king! O fortunate captain of cowards Else, Agamemnon, to-day would have witness'd the last of thine outrage!
Thou wouldst insult me, thou, of stock Like thine, with such a name abroad! And thou Wouldst taunt a Qorechyte, a Hachemite Of glorious ancestors who earned their fame. Tis proper for a woman born of such A stock illustrious to vaunt herself Upon her origin. But thou, a vile Descendant of a conquered race! Whosoe'er loves him Doth love the Arabs, too, and cleaves to them.
Aristis knows how deeply love is burning Aratus to the bone. Ah, Pan, thou lord of the beautiful plain of Homole, bring, I pray thee, the darling of Aratus unbidden to his arms, whosoe'er it be that he loves. If this thou dost, dear Pan, then never may the boys of Arcady flog thy sides and shoulders with stinging herbs, when scanty meats are left them on thine altar.
It is a plain little comedy, not much in Tennyson's line: there are places where he tries to imitate the artless disconnected speech of youth; and here, as with the little nun's babble in Guinevere, and with some other passages of factitious simplicity, the poet makes rather queer work: Gold? said I gold? ay then, why he, or she, Or whosoe'er it was, or half the world, Had ventured had the thing I spake of been Mere gold but this was all of that true steel Whereof they forged the brand Excalibur, And lightnings played about it in the storm, etc.
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