Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene II.] THE DEVOTED ONE. 153
I doubt thou ne'er hast felt, or bast no taste.
Brave Zandagast, to feel ; and thus, like men
Who have not certain
passions, thou dost rail
Loudly at those that have. It is, I deem,
A brave defect, if a defect it be,
And well becomes a soldier.
ZANDAGAST.
Ah ! my lord,
How tenderly man blames his own misdeeds,
Slight counting them, though deemed by others vile ;
And still from circumstance, and time, and place
He gathers fair excuse, till to himself
He faultless seems, whatever may be his actions.
Adieu, my lords, and merry be your revels.
TURKEETUL.
A valiant, honourable heathen ; yet
He scorns a cup, the soldiers blithest cheer.
Better would he a bishopric become
Than half the Saxon beadsmen, were his creed
Of their complexion.
ROLF IRIC.
By my spell-forged
sword !
These bishops are no fools, my lord of Anglia :
They, as occasion needs, the cross or brand
Can wield with equal force ; and at the banquet
No Danish soldier, in his merriest hour,
Ere lifted wine-cup with a freer hand
Than these ascetic priests.
TURKEETUL.
Then do set' they
An excellent example. I will choose
For my confessor one that, like myself,
[Exit.