The Works of Sir Henry Taylor | ||
Scene VIII.
—In the Palace.The King and Clarenbald.
Clarenbald.
How base to be so foolish! and again,
How blind to be so base! By Jacob's staff,
It made me young to see them; my old blood
Sprang to my wrinkles, where it had not been
These fifty years. One said that he was sick;
Another's wife was dead; a third would go,
But he must have a warrant signed and sealed.
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Shall do this errand; for a fainting will,
A gasping utterance, and a frightened face
Shall not be bearers of the King's commands
To Dunstan.”
Edwin.
You said well; no timorous heart
Shall figure me in this.
Clarembald.
To do them right,
They'd charge a Northman in his coat of proof
And flinch not; but this shaveling's meagre face,
With his mass-hackle and his reef and stole,
Puts all to flight.
Edwin.
Lo! here's my cousin Athulf.
Ask him to go.
Enter Athulf.
Clarenbald.
My Lord, well met! The King
Would wish his pleasure signified to Dunstan
Touching his coronation. Some there be
That blink the service, lest through sorceries
And conjurations of the villanous Abbot
A curse should cross them; but your brain, we know,
Brooks not such vain bewilderments.
Athulf.
I vow
Meat to my mouth goes not with better speed
Than I upon this errand.
Clarenbald.
Excellent!
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I ever knew you. Here's St. Tibba's thumb,
A relic of much price, which ne'er till now
Was parted from me; put it in your vest,
And heartily we bid you well to fare.
The Works of Sir Henry Taylor | ||