Eliz. He is in purgatory now! Alas! Angels! be pitiful! deal gently with him! His sins were gentle! That's one cause left for living-- To pray, and pray for him: why all these months I prayed,--and here's my answer: Dead of a fever! Why thus? so soon! Only six years for love! While any formal, heartless matrimony, Patched up by Court intrigues, and threats of cloisters, Drags on for six times six, and peasant slaves Grow old on the same straw, and hand in hand Slip from life's oozy bank, to float at ease. [A knocking at the door.] That's some petitioner. Go to--I will not hear them: why should I work, When he is dead? Alas! was that my sin? Was he, not Christ, my lodestar? Why not warn me? Too late! What's this foul dream? Dead at Otranto-- Parched by Italian suns--no woman by him-- He was too chaste! Nought but rude men to nurse!-- If I had been there, I should have watched by him-- Guessed every fancy--God! I might have saved him! [A servant-man bursts in.] Servant. Madam, the Landgrave gave me strict commands-- Isen. The Landgrave, dolt? Eliz. I might have saved him! Servant [to Isen.] Ay, saucy madam!-- The Landgrave Henry, lord and master, Freer than the last, and yet no waster, Who will not stint a poor knave's beer, Or spin out Lent through half the year. Why--I see double! Eliz. Who spoke there of the Landgrave? What's this drunkard? Give him his answer--'Tis no time for mumming-- Serv. The Landgrave Henry bade me see you out Safe through his gates, and that at once, my Lady. Come! Eliz. Why--that's hasty--I must take my children Ah! I forgot--they would not let me see them. I must pack up my jewels-- Serv. You'll not need it-- His Lordship has the keys. Eliz. He has indeed. Why, man!--I am thy children's godmother-- I nursed thy wife myself in the black sickness-- Art thou a bird, that when the old tree falls, Flits off, and sings in the sapling? [The man seizes her arm.] Keep thine hands off-- I'll not be shamed--Lead on. Farewell, my Ladies. Follow not! There's want to spare on earth already; And mine own woe is weight enough for me. Go back, and say, Elizabeth has yet Eternal homes, built deep in poor men's hearts; And, in the alleys underneath the wall, Has bought with sinful mammon heavenly treasure, More sure than adamant, purer than white whales' bone, Which now she claims. Lead on: a people's love shall right me. [Exit with Servant.] Guta. Where now, dame? Isen. Where, but after her? Guta. True heart! I'll follow to the death. [Exeunt.] SCENE II A street. Elizabeth and Guta at the door of a Convent. Monks in the porch. Eliz. You are afraid to shelter me--afraid. And so you thrust me forth, to starve and freeze. Soon said. Why palter o'er these mean excuses, Which tempt me to despise you?