Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene V.] THE VARANGIAN. 359
In all which thou hast uttered of this King.
of Terrors !
King, did I call him ? Ay, the King
Your children's children, who in after years
The chronicles of these sad times shall read,
If penned by faithful scribes, their leaves of woe
Will wet with tears, and, shuddering, close the book,
In doubt if man against his fellow men
Such horrid deeds could act.
HEREFORD.
Deeply do I
And my good Lord of Norfolk now repent,
That we in aught were made the means by which
This Norman Duke, son of a harlot, stole
The crown of England from its regal heir.
Heaven witness for us, and these Norman chiefs,
How we have o'er the miseries and the wrongs
Which every gallant Saxon here hath borne,
Tears of compassion shed.
WALTHEOF (aside.)
O yes, such tears
As the grim crocodile of Egypt weeps,
When in his jaws a human victim bleeds.
ABBOT.
Fill deep, courageous lords and barons bold ;
Let your rich wine-cups mantle to the brim,
Red with the empurpled vintages of France :
To merry England drink Prosperity,
And death to all her foes ! And
though a tear,
A manly tear, may mingle with the draught
For her hell-gendered wrongs, it will inspire
With nobler ardour every gallant heart
To aid her righteous cause. Prosperity
Again to England
! death to all her foes !
[Shouts, flourish, $c.