Athulf, the
brother of Elgiva, is another happy portrait--a man bright and jocund
as the morn, who can and will detect the springs of fruitfulness and
joy in earth's waste places, and whose bluff dislike of Dunstan is
aptly illustrated in the scene where he brings the king's commands,
and is kept waiting by the monks during Dunstan's matutinal
flagellation:--
_'Athulf._ But, sirs, it is in haste--in haste extreme--
Matters of state, and hot with haste.
_Second Monk_. My lord,
We will so say, but truly at this present
He is about to scourge himself.
_Athulf_. I'll wait.
For a king's ransom would I not cut short
So good a work! I pray you, for how long?
_Second Monk_. For twice the _De Profundis_, sung in slow time.
_Athulf_. Please him to make it ten times, I will wait.
And could I be of use, this knotted trifle,
This dog-whip here has oft been worse employed.'
In his recent play, _The Virgin Widow_ (1850), Mr Taylor declines from
the promise of his earlier efforts.
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