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L.

Æl.
Oh! 'tis for thee, for thee alone I feel;
Yet I must be myself; with valour's gear
I'll deck my heart, and knot my limbs in steel,
And shake the bloody sword and stainèd spear.

Ber.
Can Ælla from his breast his Bertha tear?
Is she so rough and ugly to his sight?
Intriguing wight, is mortal war so dear?
Thou prizest me below the joys of fight.
Thou shalt not leave me, albeit the earth
Hung pendent by thy sword, and cravèd for thy morthe.