Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene IV.] THE VARANGIAN. 355
Yet, though these Saxons are our scorn and hate,
I with far deadlier enmity do loathe
This haughty Conqueror ; and to win revenge,
With empire crowned, my spirit
shall be curbed
To such meek tameness, that my honour safe
I to their gusty passions low will bend,
As the green sapling to the passing storm.
Thou know'st,
HEREFORD.
t' allure the Saxon chiefs around
Our rebel banners, we the crown must place
On their young darling Edgar's head but when
;
This soft unwarlike boy, who is unfit,
In these fierce, busy times of strife and blood,
To wrestle with the unceasing storms of state,
As the frail skiff to ride the tempest surge,
When this poor mammet prince, this king of straw,
Hath served our purpose, we will him uncrown,
Ascend his throne, and then the south shall be
Thy kingdom, and the northern counties mine.
NORFOLK.
Ten thousand swords,
O, 'tis a gallant plot.
Norman and Saxon, wait our trumpet's call.
Is Fritherig, the good Abbot here, apprized
In full the tenour of our noble plan ?
HEREFORD.
Ay, far as doth concern Prince Edgar's cause.
With speed hath he to Scotland's distant court
Sent for the Etheling, that his presence may
Rouse every Saxon in the land to arms ;
But little weens he that our swords shall cleave
The imperial crown in twain. As little dreams
Northumberland, drawn here by th' Abbot's craft,
Of his designs or ours.