Britain ... - Blue-Lite

6 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act I.
EDITHA.
Now goodness keep me !
Why, Albert, should thine ever-restless mind
such vain desires ? Win thou content,
Indulge
And in thy humble lot, though hard it be,
Thou 'It tind some happiness.
ALBERT.
None, never, none,
While I behold the stern usurping Thane,
x
In splendour clad, tread like a god the earth, ( )
And frown me into ! nothing Why should he
Have all things at command, while I must wear
These sordid weeds, and toil, yoked to the 2
plough, ( )
For food his dogs would scorn ?
EDITHA.
The saints assoil thee !
Why, Albert, where hast thou picked up such treason
Against thy high-born
betters ?
ALBERT.
Why my
betters ?
In what are they my betters ? True, they feed
From trenchers loaded with the daintiest cheer
3 The garden, forest, flood, and harvest ; yield ( )
4
Furred robes they wear, bedizened o'er with gold ( )
And dazzling pebbles, bought with blood of slaves ;
Curb fiery steeds, in costly trappings decked;
Grasp in their hands a spear, the sign of 5
freedom, ( )
And on their ring-bound fingers bear a hawk,
None daring to command them ; but are they
In aught else, mother, better than myself?
EDITHA.
Why should that bosom harbour such proud thoughts,
So ill-beseeming thy low state in life ?