_Jane S._ Yet, yet, endure, nor murmur, O, my soul! For are not thy transgressions great and numberless? Do they not cover thee like rising floods, And press thee like a weight of waters down? Wait then with patience, till the circling hours Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest, And lay thee down in death. And, hark! methinks the roar, that late pursu'd me, Sinks like the murmurs of a falling wind, And softens into silence. Does revenge And malice then grow weary, and forsake me? My guard, too, that observ'd me still so close, Tire in the task of their inhuman office, And loiter far behind. Alas! I faint, My spirits fail at once--this is the door Of my Alicia----Blessed opportunity! I'll steal a little succour from her goodness, Now while no eye observes me. [_she knocks at the door._ _Enter Servant._ Is your lady, My gentle friend, at home? Oh! bring me to her. _Serv._ Hold, mistress, whither would you? [_pulling her back._ _Jane S._ Do you not know me? _Serv._ I know you well, and know my orders too: You must not enter here---- _Jane S._ Tell my Alicia, 'Tis I would see her. _Serv._ She is ill at ease, And will admit no visitor. _Jane S._ But tell her 'Tis I, her friend, the partner of her heart, Wait at the door and beg,---- _Serv._ 'Tis all in vain,-- Go hence, and howl to those that will regard you. [_shuts the door, and exit._ _Jane S._ It was not always thus; the time has been, When this unfriendly door, that bars my passage, Flew wide, and almost leap'd from off its hinges, To give me entrance here; when this good house Has pour'd forth all its dwellers to receive me; When my approaches made a little holiday, And every face was dress'd in smiles to meet me: But now 'tis otherwise; and those who bless'd me Now curse me to my face. Why should I wander, Stray further on, for I can die ev'n here? [_she sits down at the door._ _Enter Alicia in disorder, two Servants following._ _Alic._ What wretch art thou, whose misery and baseness Hangs on my door; whose hateful whine of woe Breaks in upon my sorrows, and distracts My jarring senses with thy beggar's cry? _Jane S._ A very beggar, and a wretch, indeed; One driv'n by strong calamity to seek For succours here; one perishing for want, Whose hunger has not tasted food these three days; And humbly asks, for charity's dear sake, A draught of water and a little bread. _Alic._ And dost thou come to me, to me, for bread; I know thee not--Go--hunt for it abroad, Where wanton hands upon the earth have scatter'd it, Or cast it on the waters--Mark the eagle, And hungry vulture, where they wind the prey; Watch where the ravens of the valley feed, And seek thy food with them--I know thee not.