Unto her aunt, the rich and holy lady Who rules the nuns of Kitzingen. 2d Peas. If I do, pickle me in a barrel among cabbage. She told me once, God's curse would overtake me, For grinding of the poor: her turn's come now. Guta. Will you, then, help her? She will pay you richly. 1st Peas. Ay? How dame? How? Where will the money come from? When all your stacks were fired, she lent you gold. 1st Peas. Well-I'll be generous: as the times are hard, Say, if I take your letter, will you promise To marry me yourself? Guta. Ay, marry you, Or any thing, if you'll but go to-day : At once, mind. 1st Peas. [Giving him the Letter. Ay, I'll go. Now, you'll remember? Guta. Straight to her ladyship at Kitzengen. God and his saints deal with you, as you deal With us this day. [Exit. 2d Peas. What! art thou fallen in love promiscuously? 1st Peas. Why, see, now, man; she has her mistress' ear; And if I marry her, no doubt they'll make me Bailiff, or land-steward; and there's noble pickings 2d Peas. Thou hast bought a pig in a poke: Her priest will shrive her off from such a bargain. 1st Peas. Dost think? Well I'll not fret myself about it. See, now, before I start, I must get home Those pigs from off the forest; chop some furze; And then to get my supper, and my horse's: And then a man will need to sit awhile, And take his snack of brandy for digestion; And then to fettle up my sword and buckler; And then, bid 'em all good bye: and by that time "Twill be most nightfall-I'll just go to-morrow. Off-here she comes again. [Exeunt. [ISENTRUDIS and GUTA enter, with the Children.] Guta. I warned you of it; I knew she would not stay An hour, thus treated like a slave-an idiot. Isen. Well, 'twas past bearing: so we are thrust forth To starve again: Are all your jewels gone? Guta. All pawned and eaten—and for her, you know, She never bore the worth of one day's meal About her dress, We can but die-No foe Can ban us from that rest. Isen. Ay, but these children!-Well-if it must be, Should be in heaven-and there he'll know my heart. But why so long? Guta. Oh! prayer, to her rapt soul, Is like the drunkenness of the autumn bee, And freeze in odorous dreams. Isen. Ah! here she comes. Guta. Dripping from head to foot with wet and mire! How's this? Eliz. [ELIZABETH entering.] How? Oh, my fortune rises to full flood: I met a friend just now, who told me truths Wholesome and stern, of my deceitful heart Would God I had known them earlier!-and enforced Her lesson so, as I shall ne'er forget it In body or in mind. Isen. What means all this? Eliz. You know the stepping-stones across the ford : There as I passed, a certain aged crone, Whom I had fed, and nursed, year after year, Met me mid-stream-thrust past me stoutly on- Which thought it such a vast humility To wash us poor folks' feet, and use our bodies I washed my garments in the brook hard by— And came here, all the wiser. She would have guessed my heart so well? Dull boors See deeper than we think, and hide within Those leathern hulls unfathomable truths, Which we amid thought's glittering mazes lose. They grind among the iron facts of life, And have no time for self-deception. Isen. Come Put on my cloak-stand here, behind the wall. Oh! is it come to this? She 'll die of cold. Guta. Ungrateful fiend! Eliz. Let be-we must not think on 't. The scoff was true-I thank her-I thank God— A Babel-tower, whose top should reach to heaven, poor Oh! I have leant upon an arm of flesh And here's its strength! I'll walk by faith-by faith! Shame on me! dreaming thus about myself, [To her little Son. Art cold, young knight? Knights must not cry-Go slide, and warm thyself. Where shall we lodge to-night? Isen. There's no place open, But that foul tavern, where we lay last night. Elizabeth's Son, [clinging to her.] Oh, mother, mother! go not to that house Among those fierce lank men, who laughed, and scowled, And showed their knives, and sang strange ugly songs Of you and us. Oh, mother! let us be! Eliz. Hark! look! His father's voice!—his very eye Opening so slow and sad, then sinking down In luscious rest again! Isen. Bethink you, child Eliz. Oh yes-I'll think—we 'll to our tavern friends; If they be brutes, 'twas my sin left them so. Guta. 'Tis but for a night or two: three days will Guta. [Aside.] Hush, hush! you'll fret her, if you talk of vengeance. Isen. Come to our shelter. Children. Behind these walls. Oh stay here, stay here! Eliz. Ay-stay awhile in peace. The storms are still. Beneath her eider robe the patient earth |