Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene II.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 63
O, how it joys my soul when I can see
My sword gilt ruddily
with Danish blood.
By hell, that death -doomed maiden is escaped !
Pursue the fugitive, ye lagging slaves,
And bring to me some witness of her fate.
[Exeunt several Robbers.
ALBERT.
Scald-headed thief, that look'st as if thy carcass
Had on the gibbet-tree to shower and sun
Hung in the north-wind parching, wilt thou, canst thou
Murder that maid so innocently fair ?
Whose beauty all the goodness of her mind
Reflects as clearly as the stream its banks,
Making its waves all flowers ? Off, dog-whelps, off!
arm shall rescue her from a thousand robbers.
My
RODERICK.
Thou rescue her, Dane ! What is that maid to thee ?
Ha, why
it is the hunter of the moor !
My spies have always had an eye upon thee.
Thou, sturdy knave, shalt do me noble service.
The time is near at hand, when I will make thee
A better captive than a host of Danes.
ALBERT.
Could I shake off these hounds, thou should st not go
Unbrained from hence, cadaverous wolf-eyed villain !
Freedom but yesterday to me was given,
And though my soul abhors a bondman's chains,
Let me but, like the lightning, fly
to save
Elfilia from thy blood-dogs, and I swear,
By all in earth and heaven, I'll sell this body
To be from henceforth thine eternal slave,
Thy meanest slave, to kneel and wipe the dust