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In every victory thy arms achieve, Be it o'er foreign, yea, or kindred foe, Greet thee right heartily.

I thank you, lady.

But that my pride in thee may be unmix'd With any sense of aught to taint thy glory, Grant me a boon that will enhance thy triumph, And make me say, with full, elated heart, Rasinga is my son.

Name it; whatever a man may grant is thine.

The life of Samarkoon; that is my boon.

The life of Samarkoon! then thou dost ask The foul disgrace and ruin of thy son.

Not so; for thine own peace and future weal, I do adjure thee to be merciful.

And would'st thou see the son whom thou didst bear An unrevenged, despised, derided man? And have I got from thee and my brave sire