Oscar Wilde - For Love of the King (Act 3 Scene 3) lyrics

The Gardens of the Palace of the King. Time: late afternoon. Colonnades of roses stretch away on every side. Fountains play, throwing a shower on water-lilies of monstrous size. Peaco*ks walk with stately tread across the green turf. Only one, larger and more beautiful than the rest, is perched alone, with drooping head and folded tail, on the broad-pillared terrace that overhangs the sea. The scene is aglow with light and colour, yet holds a shadowed silence. Enter some courtiers, who converse in perturbed fashion as they go towards the Palace. Enter MOUNG PHO MHIN and u. RAI RYAN THOO, accompanied by the Court Physicians and Astrologers. “The King cannot live beyond the night,” the Physicians say. The sudden, mysterious illness that has attacked him defies their sk**. The Astrologers declare that the stars in their courses fight against his recovery; unless a miracle should happen, the new day will see him dead. The Ministers regard each other in consternation; then walk the terrace with bent heads. The peaco*k on the wall spreads its tail and utters a melancholy cry of poignant pain. The listeners start in superstitious horror. The peaco*k folds its tail and resumes its meditations. “That bird is not as other birds,” one astrologer declares. “I have watched it for years past—it is ever alone—the others all avoid it. I think it has a soul.” “You mistake,” replies his colleague; “it is but an evil Nat. [32] Observe its eyes: they are not those of a bird; they are those of a spirit in prison.” They pa** on in the wake of the ministers. The peaco*k closes its eyes. Enter the two young PRINCES, accompanied by two great Pegu hounds. They converse in subdued tones, strolling slowly. They are followed by pages of honour, carrying grain, which the young men proceed to distribute amongst the birds as they rapidly approach them. The peaco*k on the wall never stirs; she watches the young men always. Then the elder one comes with a handful of food and proffers it, but the peaco*k does not eat. “I shall never understand you, Queen of the Kingdom of Birds,” he says, and strokes her feathers. At his touch the plumage scintillates with a brighter, a more exquisite sheen. He murmurs to the bird in soft tones and mythical words. He tells it that the fear of everyone is that the King is mortally stricken, for he lies yonder in most strange and evil agony; that the hearts of himself and his brother are numb with the sorrow that knows no language. The bird listens eagerly. And if the King should go, he, the speaker, will reign in his stead. The prospect fills him with fear. He desires, as also his brother, if the King must die, to return to dwell in the forest with the mother who he knows awaits them there. The peaco*k spreads its wings as if for flight, then crouches down once more, and over it watches the young prince. The sun envelops them both in a sudden shaft of rose and purple and gold. A servant descends and comes across the gra**. He shikoes profoundly to the two young men, lifting up his hands in the deepest reverence of Burmah. “The Lord of the Earth and the Sky desires his sons; he nears the Great Unknown.”