Her. The banner of the Cross!
Shame on the recreant! Cast him from us!
Rai. Boy!
Degenerate boy! Here, with the trophies won
By the sainted chiefs of old in Paynim war
Above you and around; the very air,
When it but shakes their armour on the walls,
Murmuring of glorious deeds; to sit and weep
Here for an Infidel! My father’s son,
Shame! shame! deep shame!