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Alfred

A Masque
  
  
  
  

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SCENE VI.
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SCENE VI.

Alfred, Corin, advancing.
Corin.
They are but three.

Alfred.
And were that number trebled,
This island is their grave; this sacred spot,

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Fair freedom's last retreat. We must, we will
Preserve it, all-inviolate and holy,
From impious infidels: or, with our blood,
If now we perish, sanctify it's earth
For after-times to visit and revere.

Corin.
Lift, lift, my lord—

Alfred.
What noise was that?—By heaven,
The shrieks of women! Now, stern vengeance guide
The sword we draw.