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And he that shudders at the cost,
Ere he is wounded, he is lost.
The Multitude.
He insolently bids us die
To serve unborn posterity!
Brand.
Through thorny steeps of sacrifice,
The way unto our Canaan lies.
Triumph through death! I call you all,
As Champions of God to fall!
The Sexton.
Well, we are in a pretty plight!
No mercy to expect below
The Schoolmaster.
Nay, we have bade the dale good-night.
The Sexton.
And forward, forward, who will go?
Some.
To death with him!
The Schoolmaster.
'Twere pity, so!
We want a general, you know!
Women.
[Pointing in terror downwards.]
The Dean! The Dean!
The Schoolmaster.
[To the throng.]
Nay, never fear!
