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But is in those who draw th' offensive blade
For added power or gain, sordid and despicable
As meanest office of the worldly churl.

Ethw. Chiefs and assembled Thanes, I much commend
The love you bear unto your native land.
Shame to the son nurs'd on her gen'rous breast
Who loves her not! and be assur'd that I,
Her reared child, her soldier and her king,
In true and warm affection yield to none
Of all who have upon her turfy lap
Gambol'd in infant sport. To you her weal
In gain and pleasure; glory 'tis to me.
Her misery to you is loss and sorrow;
To me disgrace and shame. Of this be satisfied;
I feel her sacred claims, which these high ensigns
Have fastened on me, and I will fulfil them:
But for the course and manner of performance,
Be that unto the royal wisdom left,
Strengthen'd by those appointed by the state
To aid and counsel it. Ye have our leave,
With all respect and favour to retire.

Her. We will retire, king Ethwald, as becomes
Free independent Thanes, who do of right
Approach or quit at will the royal presence,
And lacking no permission.

Alwy. What, all so valiant in this princely hall,
Ye who would shrink from the fair field of war,
Where soldiers should be bold?