Part 42 (1/2)

Dagobert: Our lances round thee have hover'd, Have seen where thy fellows bide; Thy weakness we have discover'd, Thy nakedness we have spied.

Osric: And hearken, knight, to my story-- When sack'd are the convent shrines, When the convent thresholds are gory, And quaff'd are the convent wines: When our beasts with pillage are laden, And the clouds of our black smoke rise From yon tower, one fair-haired maiden Is singled as Osric's prize.

I will fit her with chain and collar Of red gold, studded with pearls; With bracelet of gold, Sir Scholar, The queen of my captive girls.

Hugo (savagely): May the Most High G.o.d of battles The Lord and Ruler of fights, Who breaketh the s.h.i.+eld that rattles, Who snappeth the sword that smites, In whose hands are footmen and hors.e.m.e.n, At whose breath they conquer or flee, Never show me His mercy, Norseman!

If I show mercy to thee.

Osric: What, ho! art thou drunk, Sir Norman?

Has the wine made thy pale cheek red?

Now, I swear by Odin and Thor, man, Already I count thee dead.

Rudolph: I crave thy pardon for baulking The flood of thine eloquence, But thou canst not scare us with talking, I therefore pray thee go hence.

Osric: Though I may not take up thy gauntlet, Should we meet where the steel strikes fire, 'Twixt thy casque and thy charger's frontlet The choice will perplex thy squire.

Hugo: When the Norman rowels are goading, When glitters the Norman glaive, Thou shalt call upon Thor and Odin: They shall not hear thee nor save.

”Should we meet!” Aye, the chance may fall so, In the furious battle drive, So may G.o.d deal with me--more, also!

If we separate, both alive!

SCENE--The Court-yard of the Old Farm.

EUSTACE and other followers of HUGO and ERIC lounging about.

Enter THURSTON hastily, with swords under his arm.

Thurston: Now saddle your horses and girth them tight, And see that your weapons are sharp and bright.

Come, lads, get ready as fast as you can.

Eustace: Why, what's this bustle about, old man?

Thurston: Well, it seems Lord Hugo has changed his mind, As the weatherc.o.c.k veers with the s.h.i.+fting wind; He has gone in person to Osric's camp, To tell him to pack up his tents and tramp!

But I guess he won't.

Eustace: Then I hope he will, They are plenty to eat us, as well as to kill.

Ralph: And I hope he won't--I begin to feel A longing to moisten my thirsty steel.

[They begin to saddle and make preparations for a skirmish.]

Thurston: I've a couple of blades to look to here.

In their scabbards I scarcely could make them stir At first, but I'll sharpen them both ere long.

A Man-at-arms: Hurrah for a skirmis.h.!.+ Who'll give us a song?

Thurston (sings, cleaning and sharpening): Hurrah! for the sword! I hold one here, And I scour at the rust and say, 'Tis the umpire this, and the arbiter, That settles in the fairest way; For it stays false tongues and it cools hot blood, And it lowers the proud one's crest; And the law of the land is sometimes good, But the law of the sword is best.

In all disputes 'tis the shortest plan, The surest and best appeal;-- What else can decide between man and man?

(Chorus of all): Hurrah! for the bright blue steel!

Thurston (sings): Hurrah! for the sword of Hugo, our lord!

'Tis a trusty friend and a true; It has held its own on a gra.s.sy sward, When its blade shone bright and blue, Though it never has stricken in anger hard, And has scarcely been cleansed from rust, Since the day when it broke through Harold's guard With our favourite cut and thrust; Yet Osric's crown will look somewhat red, And his brain will be apt to reel, Should the trenchant blade come down on his head--