"Yet beshrew me, but I think that in these times a sudden blow and hasty fate the only judgment for a traitor.

The miscreant were too richly honored, that by thy royal hand he fell." "My son, my son, I pray thee, peace," urged the abbot, in accents of calm, yet grave authority.

"As minister of heaven, I may not list such words.

Bend not thy brow in wrath, clad as thou art in mail, in youthful might; yet in my Maker's cause this withered frame is stronger yet than thou art.

Enough of that which hath been.