Britain ... - Blue-Lite

262 THE VARANGIAN. [Act I.
And make him merrily his sands out-shake,
Like music tuned to love.
FITZ-ROLLO.
Go, bid thy slaves
Some Saxon fair one to thy chamber 2
bring, ( )
Famed for her : beauty be she maid or wife,
It recks not aught,
And charm away thy languor.
OSMOND.
she will some hours amuse,
No, I hate
Compulsive pleasures. Then their barbarous tongue
Is harsh and 'tis grating, not framed for love ;
And when these Saxon females are enraged,
O, I would rather hear a chattering flock
Of angry jays, the howl of forest wolves,
Or shriek of midnight hags met on the heath
To summon from the tomb its sheeted dead,
And blast the land with witcheries ! O, it shocks me !
FITZ-ROLLO.
I little heed what sounds are in their tongue,
If but their faces
please. When they grow loud,
I always show my instrument of power,
A good sharp sword, which makes them quickly mute,
And melts their coyness into willing duty.
OSMOND.
Give me the sweet Provencal tongue for love :
Our Norman ladies have sweet voices, tuned
Like lays of Troubadours. Fitz-Rollo, come,
We'll hawk to-day.
FITZ-ROLLO.
3
( )
Ay, with a willing heart ;
Or hunt down Saxon slaves, right noble sport !
And though, when caught, we cannot on them feed,