Page:Plays in Prose and Verse (1922).djvu/148

132 My house and name to none that would not face Even myself in battle.

. Being swift of foot, And making light of every common chance, You should have overtaken on the hills Some daughter of the air, or on the shore A daughter of the Country-under-Wave.

. I am not blasphemous.

. Yet you despise Our queens, and would not call a child your own, If one of them had borne him.

. I have not said it.

. Ah! I remember I have heard you boast, When the ale was in your blood, that there was one In Scotland, where you had learnt the trade of war, That had a stone-pale cheek and red-brown hair; And that although you had loved other women, You’d sooner that fierce woman of the camp Bore you a son than any queen among them. . You call her a ‘fierce woman of the camp,’ For having lived among the spinning-wheels, You’d have no woman near that would not say,