Third Guest: And I!
Who moves? Who speaks?'tis nothing,Enjoy yourselves.--Beware! For my revengeIs as the sealed commission of a kingThat kills, and none dare name the murderer.BEATRICE:I do entreat you, go not, noble guests;What, although tyranny and impious hateStand sheltered by a father's hoary hair?What if 'tis he who clothed us in these limbsWho tortures them, and triumphs? What, if we,The desolate and the dead, were his own flesh,His children and his wife, whom he is boundTo love and shelter? Shall we therefore findNo refuge in this merciless wide world?O think what deep wrongs must have blotted outFirst love, then reverence in a child's prone mind,Till it thus vanquish shame and fear! O think!I have borne much, and kissed the sacred handWhich crushed us to the earth, and thought its strokeWas perhaps some paternal chastisement!Have excused much, doubted; and when no doubtRemained, have sought by patience, love, and tearsTo soften him, and when this could not beI have knelt down through the long sleepless nightsAnd lifted up to God, the Father of all,Passionate prayers: and when these were not heardI have still borne,--until I meet you here,Princes and kinsmen, at this hideous feastGiven at my brothers' deaths. Two yet remain,His wife remains and I, whom if ye save not,Ye may soon share such merriment againAs fathers make over their children's graves.O Prince Colonna, thou art our near kinsman,Cardinal, thou art the Pope's chamberlain,Camillo, thou art chief justiciary,Take us away!
I hope my good friends hereWill think of their own daughters--or perhapsOf their own throats--before they lend an earTo this wild girl.
Dare no one look on me?None answer? Can one tyrant overbearThe sense of many best and wisest men?Or is it that I sue not in some formOf scrupulous law, that ye deny my suit?O God! That I were buried with my brothers!And that the flowers of this departed springWere fading on my grave! And that my fatherWere celebrating now one feast for all!
CAMILLO:A bitter wish for one so young and gentle.Can we do nothing?
COLONNA:Nothing that I see.Count Cenci were a dangerous enemy:Yet I would second any one.
Words in this poem
- beware v. t.
- To avoid; to take care of; to have a care for.
- entreat v. t.
- To treat, or conduct toward; to deal with; to use. [OE. entreten to treat, request, OF. entraiter to treat of; pref. en- (L. in) + traitier to treat. See Treat.]
- hoary a.
- White or whitish."The hoary willows."
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- sleepless a.
- Having no sleep; wakeful.
- kinsman n.
- A man of the same race or family; one related by blood.
- justiciary n.
- An old name for the judges of the higher English courts. [Cf. LL. justitiarius, F. justicier. See Justice.]
- overbear v. t.
- To bear down or carry down, as by excess of weight, power, force, etc.; to overcome; to suppress.
- fading n.
- An Irish dance; also, the burden of a song.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Third Guest: And I! is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley — Volume 1, Project Gutenberg ebook #4797; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Percy Bysshe Shelley, Third Guest: And I!, in Alastor, and Other Poems (1813–1820), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #4797, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/shelley-poems/third-guest-and-i.html, id L00239.
Form and metre
Third Guest: And I! is 57 lines in 5 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 84%). 93% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.4 syllables. 2 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 40% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A---------B--B--------------C-CC-- speaks · nothingA · revenge · kingA · murderer · beatrice · guests · hate · hair · limbs · we · flesh · bound · findB · world · out · mindB · think · hand · stroke · chastisement · doubt · tears · be · nights · all · heard · here · feast · remain · not · againC · graves · kinsmanC · chamberlainC · justiciary · away
- 2 A-A- hereA · perhaps · earA · girl
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Who moves? Who speaks? | 4 | ···· |
| 'tis nothing, | 3 | ·/˘ |
| Enjoy yourselves.--Beware! For my revenge | 10 | ˘/˘/˘/··˘/ |
| Is as the sealed commission of a king | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| That kills, and none dare name the murderer. | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| BEATRICE: | 3 | /˘˘ |
| I do entreat you, go not, noble guests; | 10 | ··˘/···/˘· |
| What, although tyranny and impious hate | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| Stand sheltered by a father's hoary hair? | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| What if 'tis he who clothed us in these limbs | 10 | ·········· |
| Who tortures them, and triumphs? What, if we, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| The desolate and the dead, were his own flesh, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| His children and his wife, whom he is bound | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| To love and shelter? Shall we therefore find | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| No refuge in this merciless wide world? | 10 | ·/˘··/˘˘·· |
| O think what deep wrongs must have blotted out | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| First love, then reverence in a child's prone mind, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Till it thus vanquish shame and fear! O think! | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| I have borne much, and kissed the sacred hand | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Which crushed us to the earth, and thought its stroke | 10 | ·········· |
| Was perhaps some paternal chastisement! | 10 | ·˘/·˘/˘/˘˘ |
| Have excused much, doubted; and when no doubt | 10 | ·˘/·/˘···· |
| Remained, have sought by patience, love, and tears | 10 | ˘/···/˘··· |
| To soften him, and when this could not be | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| I have knelt down through the long sleepless nights | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And lifted up to God, the Father of all, | 11 | ·/˘····/˘·· |
| Passionate prayers: and when these were not heard | 10 | /˘˘······· |
| I have still borne,--until I meet you here, | 10 | ·········· |
| Princes and kinsmen, at this hideous feast | 10 | /˘·····/˘· |
| Given at my brothers' deaths. Two yet remain, | 10 | /··/˘···˘/ |
| His wife remains and I, whom if ye save not, | 11 | ··˘/······· |
| Ye may soon share such merriment again | 10 | ·····/˘˘˘/ |
| As fathers make over their children's graves. | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| O Prince Colonna, thou art our near kinsman, | 11 | ··˘/˘··/·/· |
| Cardinal, thou art the Pope's chamberlain, | 10 | /˘˘····/˘˘ |
| Camillo, thou art chief justiciary, | 11 | ˘/˘···˘/˘˘˘ |
| Take us away! | 4 | ··˘/ |
| I hope my good friends here | 6 | ······ |
| Will think of their own daughters--or perhaps | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| Of their own throats--before they lend an ear | 10 | ·········· |
| To this wild girl. | 4 | ···· |
| Dare no one look on me? | 6 | ······ |
| None answer? Can one tyrant overbear | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| The sense of many best and wisest men? | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Or is it that I sue not in some form | 10 | ·········· |
| Of scrupulous law, that ye deny my suit? | 10 | ·/˘···˘/·· |
| O God! That I were buried with my brothers! | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| And that the flowers of this departed spring | 10 | ···/··˘/˘· |
| Were fading on my grave! And that my father | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| Were celebrating now one feast for all! | 10 | ·/˘·˘····· |
| CAMILLO: | 3 | ˘/˘ |
| A bitter wish for one so young and gentle. | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| Can we do nothing? | 5 | ···/˘ |
| COLONNA: | 3 | ˘/˘ |
| Nothing that I see. | 5 | /˘··· |
| Count Cenci were a dangerous enemy: | 11 | ·/˘··/˘˘/˘˘ |
| Yet I would second any one. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
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