Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene I.] THE ENGLISH SLAVE. 77
The blood of serfs and nobles, priests and kings.
But your detested locust-hordes this night
Are in one purple torrent swept from off
The groaning land the wide-spread plague is stayed.
My country's wrongs demand that thou shouldst die,
And on my gates thy severed head Fll spike,
England's last noble trophy of revenge !
ROGVALLA.
Hide not thy hell-deeds 'neath the splendid veil
Of patriot
virtue. Murderer ! Fratricide !
Where is thy brother, my renowned sire ?
His blood for vengeance calls on thee and thine !
GONDABERT.
the block.
Stop the foul reptile's tongue ! Prepare
Hence with him to the castle's !
deepest dungeon
Hold ! coward tyrant !
EVANDA.
Stay, Rogvalla, stay ;
I'll with thee die, no power again shall part us !
GONDABERT.
Bear hence the lady to her chamber. Quick !
Tear them asunder.
EVANDA.
Off, vile murderers, off!
Thus, thus Fll twine his chains around my limbs,
And to him cling while sense or being last.
[ The Soldiers drag off Rogvalla, Evanda wildly
him in her arms.
holding
GONDABERT.
Harm not Evanda for your lives, ye slaves.
It stings me they have met. Now for my plan
Of vengeance on this insolent brigand.
Othmar, remember : let not one escape
Of all yon robber crew the sword of justice. [Aside.
[Exit Othmar.