Page:Passions 2.pdf/165

Wog. (in his sleep.) Swift, in your package stow those dead men's geer,
And loose their noble coursers from the stall.

Alwy. Ay, plund'ring in his sleep.

Wog. Wipe thou that blade:
Those bloody throats have drench'd it to the hilt.

Alwy. O, hear the night-thoughts of that bloody hound!
I must awake him. Ho, brave Woggarwolfe!
 
Wog. Hear how those women scream! we'll still them shortly.

Alwy. Ho, Woggarwolfe!

Wog. Who calls me now? cannot you master it?
(Alwy knocks upon the ground with his stick.)
What, batt'ring on it still? Will it not yield?
Then fire the gate.

Alwy. (shaking him.) Ho, Woggarwolfe, I say!

Wog. (starting up half awake.) Is not the castle taken?

Alwy. Yes, it is taken.

Wog. (rubbing his eyes.) Poo! it is but a dream.

Alwy. But dreams full oft are found of real events
The forms and shadows.
There is in very deed a castle taken,
In which your Wessex foes have left behind
Nor stuff, nor store, nor mark of living thing.
Bind on thy sword and call thy men to arms!
Thy boiling blood will bubble in thy veins
When thou hast heard it is the tower of Boruth,

Wog. My place of strength?