Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/94

 (rising)

They lied—and you lie, not for the first time. What have you got there, fumbling up your sleeve, A stolen purse?

Nay, liar in your teeth! Dead liar too: St. Dennis and St. Lambert! [Strikes at Sir Peter with a dagger.

(striking him flatlings with his axe)

How thief! thief! thief! so there, fair thief, so there, St. George Guienne! glaives for the castellan! You French, you are but dead, unless you lay Your spears upon the earth. St. George Guienne!

Well done, John Curzon, how he has them now.

In the Castle

What shall we do with all these prisoners, sir?

Why put them all to ransom, those that can Pay anything, but not too light though, John, Seeing we have them on the hip: for those That have no money, that being certified, Why turn them out of doors before they spy; But bring Sir Lambert guarded unto me.

I will, fair sir. [He goes.