Thank G.o.d, that you are allowed to use a finger Towards building up His chosen tabernacle.

2d Woman. I consider that she blasphemes the means of grace.

Con. Eh? that's a point, indeed.

2d Woman. Why, yesterday, Within the church, before a mighty crowd, She mocked at all the lovely images, And said 'the money had been better spent On food and clothes, instead of paint and gilding: They were but pictures, whose reality We ought to bear within us.'

Con. Awful doctrine!

1st Woman. Look at her carelessness, again--the distaff Or woolcomb in her hands, even on her bed.

Then, when the work is done, she lets those nuns Cheat her of half the price.

2d Woman. The Aldenburgers.

Con. Well, well, what more misdoings?

[aside] Pah! I am sick on't.

[Aloud] Go sit, and pray by her until she wakes.

]The women retire. Conrad sits down by the fire.]

I am dwindling to a peddling chamber-chaplain, Who hunts for crabs and ballads in maids' sleeves, I, who have shuffled kingdoms. Oh! 'tis easy To beget great deeds; but in the rearing of them-- The threading in cold blood each mean detail, And furzebrake of half-pertinent circ.u.mstance-- There lies the self-denial.

Women [in a low voice]. Master! sir! look here!

Eliz. [rising]. Have mercy, mercy, Lord!

Con. What is it, my daughter? No--she answers not-- Her eyeb.a.l.l.s through their sealed lids are bursting, And yet she sleeps: her body does but mimic The absent soul's enfranchised wanderings In the spirit-world.

Eliz. Oh! she was but a worldling!

And think, good Lord, if that this world is h.e.l.l, What wonder if poor souls whose lot is fixed here, Meshed down by custom, wealth, rank, pleasure, ignorance, Do h.e.l.lish things in it? Have mercy, Lord; Even for my sake, and all my woes, have mercy!

Con. There! she is laid again--Some bedlam dream.

So--here I sit; am I a guardian angel Watching by G.o.d's elect? or nightly tiger, Who waits upon a dainty point of honour To clutch his prey, till it shall wake and move?

We'll waive that question: there's eternity To answer that in.

How like a marble-carven nun she lies Who prays with folded palms upon her tomb, Until the resurrection! Fair and holy!

O happy Lewis! Had I been a knight-- A man at all--What's this? I must be brutal, Or I shall love her: and yet that's no safeguard; I have marked it oft: ay--with that devilish triumph Which eyes its victim's writhings, still will mingle A sympathetic thrill of l.u.s.t--say, pity.

Eliz. [awaking]. I am heard! She is saved!

Where am I? What! have I overslept myself?

Oh, do not beat me! I will tell you all-- I have had awful dreams of the other world.

1st Woman. Ay! ay! a fine excuse for lazy women, Who cry nightmare with lying on their backs.

Eliz. I will be heard! I am a prophetess!

G.o.d hears me, why not ye?

Con. Quench not the Spirit: If He have spoken, daughter, we must listen.

Eliz. Methought from out the red and heaving earth My mother rose, whose broad and queenly limbs A fiery arrow did impale, and round Pursuing tongues oozed up of nether fire, And fastened on her: like a winter-blast Among the steeples, then she shrieked aloud, 'Pray for me, daughter; save me from this torment, For thou canst save!' And then she told a tale; It was not true--my mother was not such-- O G.o.d! The pander to a brother's sin!

1st Woman. There now? The truth is out! I told you, sister, About that mother--

Con. Silence, hags! what then?

Eliz. She stretched her arms, and sank. Was it a sin To love that sinful mother? There I lay-- And in the spirit far away I prayed; What words I spoke, I know not, nor how long; Until a small still voice sighed, 'Child, thou art heard:'

Then on the pitchy dark a small bright cloud Shone out, and swelled, and neared, and grew to form, Till from it blazed my pardoned mother's face With nameless glory! Nearer still she pressed, And bent her lips to mine--a mighty spasm Ran crackling through my limbs, and thousand bells Rang in my dizzy ears--And so I woke.

Con. 'Twas but a dream.

Eliz. 'Twas more! 'twas more! I've tests: From youth I have lived in two alternate worlds, And night is live like day. This was no goblin!

'Twas a true vision, and my mother's soul Is freed by my poor prayers from penal files, And waits for me in bliss.

Con. Well--be it so then.

Thou seest herein what prize obedience merits.

Now to press forwards: I require your presence Within the square, at noon, to witness there The fiery doom--most just and righteous doom-- Of two convicted and malignant heretics, Who at the stake shall expiate their crime, And pacify G.o.d's wrath against this land.

Eliz. No! no! I will not go!

Con. What's here? Thou wilt not?

I'll drive thee there with blows.

Eliz. Then I will bear them, Even as I bore the last, with thankful thoughts Upon those stripes my Lord endured for me.

Oh, spare them, sir! poor blindfold sons of men!

No saint but daily errs,--and must they burn, Ah, G.o.d! for an opinion?

Con. Fool! opinions?

Who cares for their opinions? 'Tis rebellion Against the system which upholds the world For which they die: so, lest the infection spread, We must cut off the members, whose disease We'd pardon, could they keep it to themselves.

[Elizabeth weeps.]

Well, I'll not urge it,--Thou hast other work-- But for thy petulant words do thou this penance: I do forbid thee here, to give henceforth Food, coin, or clothes, to any living soul.

Thy thriftless waste doth scandalise the elect, And maim thine usefulness: thou dost elude My wise restrictions still: 'Tis great, to live Poor, among riches; when thy wealth is spent, Want is not merit, but necessity.

Eliz. Oh, let me give!

That only pleasure have I left on earth!

Con. And for that very cause thou must forego it, And so be perfect. She who lives in pleasure Is dead, while yet she lives; grace brings no merit When 'tis the express of our own self-will.

To shrink from what we practise; do G.o.d's work In spite of loathings; that's the path of saints.

I have said. [Exit with the women.]

Eliz. Well! I am freezing fast--I have grown of late Too weak to nurse my sick; and now this outlet, This one last thawing spring of fellow-feeling, Is choked with ice--Come, Lord, and set me free.

Think me not hasty! measure not mine age, O Lord, by these my four-and-twenty winters.

I have lived three lives--three lives.

For fourteen years I was an idiot girl: Then I was born again; and for five years, I lived! I lived! and then I died once more;-- One day when many knights came marching by, And stole away--we'll talk no more of that.

And so these four years since, I have been dead, And all my life is hid with Christ in G.o.d.

Nunc igitur dimittas, Domine, servam tuam.

SCENE IV