To see him yelling o'er thee as his prey?
Bearing aloft his dark and hideous form;
Grinding his horrid jaws and darting on thee
His eyes of vivid fire? (The Monks sign themselves with great marks of fear, and Woggarwolfe looks terrified.)
That many gifts, ay, half of all thou'rt worth
Would dearly purchase safety from such terrours?
Wog. (in a quick perturbed voice.)
I have the plunder of two neighb'ring chiefs,
Whom I surpris'd within their towers and slew;
I'll give you all—if that suffices not
I'll fall upon a third, ay tho' it were
My next of kin, nor spare of all his goods
One fragment for myself. O holy fathers!
I humbly crave saintly protection of you.
Hex. Nay, Woggarwolfe, on shrines of holy saints
No gift e'er works with efficacious power
By force and violence gain'd; unless, indeed,
It be the spoil of some unsaintly Thane,
Some faithless wizard or foul heretic.
Thou hast a neighbour, impious Ethelbert;
To burn his towers and consecrate his spoils,
O'er all thy sins would cast a sacred robe,
On which nor fiend nor devil durst fix a fang.
But now thou lackest strength for such a work,
And may'st be dead ere thou hast time to do it;
Therefore I counsel thee, give up thy lands.
