Fool. Oh! merrily growls the starving hind, At my full skin; And merrily howl wolf, wind, and owl, While I lie warm within.

Monks. A luxu et avaritia Domine libera nos.

Min. Hark! from the bridal bower, Rings out the bridesmaid's song; ''Tis the mystic hour of an untried power, The bride she tarries long.'

Fool. She's schooling herself and she's steeling herself, Against the dreary day, When she'll pine and sigh from her lattice high For the knight that's far away.

Monks. A carnis illectamentis Domine libera nos.

Min. Blest maid! fresh roses o'er thee The careless years shall fling; While days and nights shall new delights To sense and fancy bring.

Fool. Satins and silks, and feathers and lace, Will gild life's pill; In jewels and gold folks cannot grow old, Fine ladies will never fall ill.

Monks. A vanitatibus saeculi Domine libera nos.

[Sophia descends from the Dais, leading Elizabeth. Ladies follow.]

Sophia [to the Fool]. Silence, you screech-owl.-- Come strew flowers, fair ladies, And lead into her bower our fairest bride, The cynosure of love and beauty here, Who shrines heaven's graces in earth's richest casket.

Eliz. I come, [aside] Here, Guta, take those monks a fee-- Tell them I thank them--bid them pray for me.

I am half mazed with trembling joy within, And noisy wa.s.sail round. 'Tis well, for else The spectre of my duties and my dangers Would whelm my heart with terror. Ah! poor self!

Thou took'st this for the term and bourne of troubles-- And now 'tis here, thou findest it the gate Of new sin-cursed infinities of labour, Where thou must do, or die!

[aloud] Lead on. I'll follow. [Exeunt.]

Fool. There, now. No fee for the fool; and yet my prescription was as good as those old Jeremies'. But in law, physic, and divinity, folks had sooner be poisoned in Latin, than saved in the mother- tongue.

ACT II

SCENE I. A.D. 1221-27

Elizabeth's Bower. Night. Lewis sleeping in an Alcove.

Elizabeth lying on the Floor in the Foreground.

Eliz. No streak yet in the blank and eyeless east-- More weary hours to ache, and smart, and shiver On these bare boards, within a step of bliss.

Why peevish? 'Tis mine own will keeps me here-- And yet I hate myself for that same will: Fightings within and out! How easy 'twere, now, Just to be like the rest, and let life run-- To use up to the rind what joys G.o.d sends us, Not thus forestall His rod: What! and so lose The strength which comes by suffering? Well, if grief Be gain, mine's double--fleeing thus the snare Of yon luxurious and unnerving down, And widowed from mine Eden. And why widowed?

Because they tell me, love is of the flesh, And that's our house-bred foe, the adder in our bosoms, Which warmed to life, will sting us. They must know-- I do confess mine ignorance, O Lord!

Mine earnest will these painful limbs may prove.

And yet I swore to love him.--So I do No more than I have sworn. Am I to blame If G.o.d makes wedlock that, which if it be not, It were a shame for modest lips to speak it, And silly doves are better mates than we?

And yet our love is Jesus' due,--and all things Which share with Him divided empery Are snares and idols--'To love, to cherish, and to obey!'

O deadly riddle! Rent and twofold life!

O cruel troth! To keep thee or to break thee Alike seems sin! O thou beloved tempter,

[Turning toward the bed.]

Who first didst teach me love, why on thyself From G.o.d divert thy lesson? Wilt provoke Him?

What if mine heavenly Spouse in jealous ire Should smite mine earthly spouse? Have I two husbands?

The words are horror--yet they are orthodox!

[Rises and goes to the window.]

How many many brows of happy lovers The fragrant lips of night even now are kissing!

Some wandering hand in hand through arched lanes; Some listening for loved voices at the lattice; Some steeped in dainty dreams of untried bliss; Some nestling soft and deep in well-known arms, Whose touch makes sleep rich life. The very birds Within their nests are wooing! So much love!

All seek their mates, or finding, rest in peace; The earth seems one vast bride-bed. Doth G.o.d tempt us?

Is't all a veil to blind our eyes from him?

A fire-fly at the candle. 'Tis love leads him; Love's light, and light is love: O Eden! Eden!

Eve was a virgin there, they say; G.o.d knows.

Must all this be as it had never been?

Is it all a fleeting type of higher love?

Why, if the lesson's pure, is not the teacher Pure also? Is it my shame to feel no shame?

Am I more clean, the more I scent uncleanness?

Shall base emotions picture Christ's embrace?

Rest, rest, torn heart! Yet where? in earth or heaven?

Still, from out the bright abysses, gleams our Lady's silver footstool, Still the light-world sleeps beyond her, though the night-clouds fleet below.

Oh that I were walking, far above, upon that dappled pavement, Heaven's floor, which is the ceiling of the dungeon where we lie.

Ah, what blessed Saints might meet me, on that platform, sliding silent, Past us in its airy travels, angel-wafted, mystical!

They perhaps might tell me all things, opening up the secret fountains Which now struggle, dark and turbid, through their dreary prison clay.

Love! art thou an earth-born streamlet, that thou seek'st the lowest hollows?

Sure some vapours float up from thee, mingling with the highest blue.

Spirit-love in spirit-bodies, melted into one existence-- Joining praises through the ages--Is it all a minstrel's dream?

Alas! he wakes. [Lewis rises.]

Lewis. Ah! faithless beauty, Is this your promise, that whene'er you prayed I should be still the partner of your vigils, And learn from you to pray? Last night I lay dissembling When she who woke you, took my feet for yours: Now I shall seize my lawful prize perforce.

Alas! what's this? These shoulders' cushioned ice, And thin soft flanks, with purple lashes all, And weeping furrows traced! Ah! precious life-blood!

Who has done this?

Eliz. Forgive! 'twas I--my maidens--

Lewis. O ruthless hags!

Eliz. Not so, not so--They wept When I did bid them, as I bid thee now To think of nought but love.

Lewis. Elizabeth!

Speak! I will know the meaning of this madness!

Eliz. Beloved, thou hast heard how G.o.dly souls, In every age, have tamed the rebel flesh By such sharp lessons. I must tread their paths, If I would climb the mountains where they rest.

Grief is the gate of bliss--why wedlock--knighthood-- A mother's joy--a hard-earned field of glory-- By tribulation come--so doth G.o.d's kingdom.

Lewis. But doleful nights, and self-inflicted tortures-- Are these the love of G.o.d? Is He well pleased With this stern holocaust of health and joy?

Eliz. What! Am I not as gay a lady-love As ever clipt in arms a n.o.ble knight?