Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene I.]
THE DEVOTED ONE.
Where will be then thine everlasting fame ?
Delusion of mad fools ! and therefore I
Laugh such vain hopes to scorn, while all my care
Is for the enjoyment of that narrow space
Which man's few days inherit.
GODWIN.
Soulless sage !
Barren of all that's truly great and brave !
Thy poor nobility hangs on thy back
In costly trappings. Strip thee of thy robes,
And the foul beggar is at least thine equal.
EDRIC.
Why, saucy forest-groom, and dost thou know
Who stands before thee ?
By Heaven,
as little.
I am the Duke of Mercia.
GODWIN.
No, not I ;
and care,
EDRIC.
Thou unmannered serf,
GODWIN.
Then indeed
I know thee well, and cry thy mercy, Duke,
For likening thee to a poor scurvy beggar ;
Yet to the houseless beggar have I done
By far the greater wrong.
For not the basest, bloodiest, ditch-dog thief
That nightly steals to feed his famished maw,
And ruthless murders doth for guilty hire,
thy head
Is half so vile as thou art ! On
Thy country's deep and deadly
curses rest :
They, like eternal fire, shall to thee cling,
And in thy passion-quivering heart Remorse