Britain ... - Blue-Lite

32 THE ENGLISH SLAVE. [Act II.
GONDABERT.
Lord Edgar ? maid of honour to thy mother ?
Why thou art mad ! or I, more mad than thou,
Of thy strange story make most strange disorder.
ALBERT.
Clear is the story as those sunny beams
That sparkle on Lydford's mountain flood,
If thou mar not its meaning. Thy young heir
A maiden woos who dwells here on the moor ;
And for a princess is content to take
A lowly bond-wench to his bridal bed.
GONDABERT.
Lord Edgar woo a bondmaid for his bride !
Away, foul-spoken villain ! ere my sword
Leap from its scabbard to revenge in blood
Thy base, misboding
lies !
ALBERT.
Ha! ha! ha!
GONDABEUT.
Darest, sodden-witted slave, to mock my wrath ?
Fiends ! now I on him look, why
At th' evil glances of that scoffing eye ?
do I start
His visage drives the blood cold to my heart !
His wild laugh sounded like It cannot be.
What weakness hath possessed me ?
(aside). Wolf-dog,
hence !
Still dost thou brave me with that brow of scorn,
Nor, like a trembling bond-serf, crouch in fear ?
ALBERT.
Fear ! what is fear? I know it not, proud Thane.
GONDABERT.
Audacious swineherd ! speak'st thou like an equal ?