Knight. Go tell her of it, rascal, and she'll thank you for it, and give you a shilling for helping her to a 'cross.' Old Woman. Taceing free women in the nave! This comes of your princesses, that turn the world upside down, and demean themselves to hob and nob with these black baldicoots! Eliz. [in a low voice]. I saw all Israel scattered on the hills As sheep that have no shepherd! O my people! Who crowd with greedy eyes round this my jewel, Poor ivory, token of his outward beauty-- Oh! had ye known his spirit!--Let his wisdom Inform your light hearts with that Saviour's likeness For whom he died! So had you kept him with you; And from the coming evils gentle Heaven Had not withdrawn the righteous: 'tis too late! 1st Lady. There, now, she smiles; do you think she ever loved him? Knight. Never creature, but mealy-mouthed inquisitors, and shaven singing birds. She looks now as glad to be rid of him as any colt broke loose. 1st Lady. What will she do now, when this farce is over? 2d Lady. Found an abbey, that's the fashion, and elect herself abbess--tyrannise over hysterical girls, who are forced to thank her for making them miserable, and so die a saint. Knight. Will you pray to her, my fair queen? 2d Lady. Not I, sir; the old Saints send me lovers enough, and to spare--yourself for one. 1st Lady. There is the giant-killer slain. But see--they have stopped: who is that raising the coffin lid? 2d Lady. Her familiar spirit, Conrad the heretic-catcher. Knight. I do defy him! Thou art my only goddess; My saint, my idol, my--ahem! 1st Lady. That well's run dry. Look, how she trembles--Now she sinks, all shivering, Upon the pavement--Why, you'll see nought there Flirting behind the pillar--Now she rises-- And choking down that proud heart, turns to the altar-- Her hand upon the coffin. Eliz. I thank thee, gracious Lord, who hast fulfilled Thine handmaid's mighty longings with the sight Of my beloved's bones, and dost vouchsafe This consolation to the desolate. I grudge not, Lord, the victim which we gave Thee, Both he and I, of his most precious life, To aid Thine holy city: though Thou knowest His sweetest presence was to this world's joy As sunlight to the taper--Oh! hadst Thou spared-- Had Thy great mercy let us, hand in hand, Have toiled through houseless shame, on beggar's dole, I had been blest: Thou hast him, Lord, Thou hast him-- Do with us what Thou wilt! If at the price Of this one silly hair, in spite of Thee, I could reclothe these wan bones with his manhood, And clasp to my shrunk heart my hero's self-- I would not give it! I will weep no more-- Lead on, most holy; on the sepulchre Which stands beside the choir, lay down your burden. [To the people.]