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Even on this awful verge, methinks I go, Like a chid infant, from his passing term Of short disgrace, back to his father's presence. (holding up his hands with a dignified exultation.) I feel an awful joy!—Farewel, my friends! Selred, we've fought in many a field together, And still as brothers been; take thou, I pray, This token of my love. And thou, good Wolfere, I've ever priz'd thy worth, wear thou this ring. (to the other two chiefs, giving them also tokens) And you, brave chiefs, I've ever loved you both, And now, my noble Hereulf, Of all the youth to whom my soul e'er knit, As with a parent's love, in the good cause, Thee have I found most fervent and most firm; Be thine my sword, which in my native hall, Hung o'er my noble father's arms thou'lt find, And be it in thy hands what well thou know'st It would have been in mine. Farewel, my friends! God bless you all! First Pr. This may not be! down with those impious hands! Dar'st thou, foul heretick, before the face Of hallow'd men, thus mutter prayers accurst?