Now as the rays of yonder Phoeb I feel
The sap doth spur my limbs to bolder tasks
Than e'er I've undertaken in the past.
I must seek out the King and of Rangoon
Demand to know the fate, dread though it be.
O poor, O pitied face, O sumptuous breasts,
O cygnoid neck, O eyes like sapphires three
Or four (so bright they burned). That she was raped
I know, yet can't believe it, for, you see
I cannot ...

Is this the wight, the whom we must arraign
By order of our leader

                           whom we serve?

Aye, Putresco, this is he, this Carybd
Who for his several crimes shall now atone
In wreaths of chains and fetters. (To guards) Seize this man!

Guards, Merchants, Gentlemen, lend me your limbs
I cannot walk or fly within these bonds
Imposed I know nor why or by whose wish
To strain within the bounds of warlike goals
And those of infamy and crime, it seems to me ...
Indeed, I know not what it seems ...

                                      Be silent!
Your crimes are writ upon this scroll.

                                      Now, hear:
'The wight Carybdis, son of Marco Polo
Is by the majesty of all the earth
Who rules the planets as the nether sun
And all within the seven orbs' command
As by commandment of some higher king
That holds mayhap his sway on far-off shores
And by terrestrial power o'er this land,
Summoned to be, where'er he dwell, sought out
With chain and cudgel bound by legal force
What form soever it may have to take
To hold his body accursed and accused
And brought before his majesty the King
In whatsoever climate, whether dry,
Or 'neath the pluvial fury of some god
Most wetly drowned; of whatsoever hue
If azure, puce, of livid or of pale
As luminescent as the rising moon
Whose pallor apes the long-lost sailor's ghost
Beyond the far horizon; thus is deemed
That he shall come on crippled, bending knee,
On whatsoever joint, arthritic, whole
May scarce sustain his weight; that he should come
From whence, he cares not, whither still no more,
His caring now is by the King ordained.'

Weak knaves!

                But think not to escape, Carybd
It cannot do thee anything but harm.
I know thy plans –

                           As do we all!

                                      – and, if,
The sloops are harboured better than before
Then loam, unloamed, were greater

                           Yes

                                      – than not

Than aye, I beg ...

                           Not so! The cargo waits
Our haste is well rewarded. (to the waking guards) Seize this man!
The quoits we lost at sea, his monies are
No less than those that Neptune offered up
As points untried. This bitter cup, I'll fill.