“Your royal Highness needs not to be told，” said King Lune， “that by the law of nations as well as by all reasons of prudent policy， we have as good right to your head as ever one mortal man had against another. Nevertheless， in consideration of your youth and the ill nurture， devoid of all gentilesse and courtesy， which you have doubtless had in the land of slaves and tyrants， we are disposed to set you free， unharmed， on these conditions： first， that.”
“Curse you for a barbarian dog！” spluttered Rabadash. “Do you think I will even hear your conditions？ Faugh！ You talk very largely of nurture and I know not what. It‘s easy， to a man in chains， ha！ Take off these vile bonds， give me a sword， and let any of you who dares then debate with me.”
Nearly all the lords sprang to their feet， and Corin shouted：
“Father！ Can I box him？ Please.”
“Peace！ Your Majesties！ My Lords！” said King Lune. “Have we no more gravity among us than to be so chafed by the taunt of a pajock？ Sit down， Corin， or shaft leave the table. I ask your Highness again， to hear our conditions.”
