Part 43 (1/2)
MARGARET
He'll surely take her for his wife.
LISBETH
He'd be a fool! A brisk young blade Has room, elsewhere, to ply his trade.
Besides, he's gone.
MARGARET
That is not fair!
LISBETH
If him she gets, why let her beware!
The boys shall dash her wreath on the floor, And we'll scatter chaff before her door!
[Exit.
MARGARET (returning home)
How scornfully I once reviled, When some poor maiden was beguiled!
More speech than any tongue suffices I craved, to censure others' vices.
Black as it seemed, I blackened still, And blacker yet was in my will; And blessed myself, and boasted high,- And now-a living sin am I!
Yet-all that drove my heart thereto, G.o.d! was so good, so dear, so true!
XVIII
DONJON
(In a niche of the wall a shrine, with an image of the Mater Dolorosa. Pots of flowers before it.)
MARGARET
(putting fresh flowers in the pots)
Incline, O Maiden, Thou sorrow-laden, Thy gracious countenance upon my pain!
The sword Thy heart in, With anguish smarting, Thou lookest up to where Thy Son is slain!
Thou seest the Father; Thy sad sighs gather, And bear aloft Thy sorrow and His pain!
Ah, past guessing, Beyond expressing, The pangs that wring my flesh and bone!
Why this anxious heart so burneth, Why it trembleth, why it yearneth, Knowest Thou, and Thou alone!
Where'er I go, what sorrow, What woe, what woe and sorrow Within my bosom aches!
Alone, and ah! unsleeping, I'm weeping, weeping, weeping, The heart within me breaks.
The pots before my window, Alas! my tears did wet, As in the early morning For thee these flowers I set.
Within my lonely chamber The morning sun shone red: I sat, in utter sorrow, Already on my bed.
Help! rescue me from death and stain!