[A white figure comes up the path with lights.]
Peas. A ghost or a watchman, and one's as bad as the other--so we
may take to cover for the time.
[Elizabeth enters, meanly clad, carrying her new-born infant;
Isentrudis following with a taper and gold pieces on a salver.
Elizabeth passes, singing.]
Deep in the warm vale the village is sleeping,
Sleeping the firs on the bleak rock above;
Nought wakes, save grateful hearts, silently creeping
Up to the Lord in the might of their love.
What Thou hast given to me, Lord, here I bring Thee,
Odour, and light, and the magic of gold;
Feet which must follow Thee, lips which must sing Thee,
Limbs which must ache for Thee ere they grow old.
What Thou hast given to me, Lord, here I tender,
Life of mine own life, the fruit of my love;
Take him, yet leave him me, till I shall render
Count of the precious charge, kneeling above.
[They pass up the path. The Peasants come out.]
Peas. No ghost, but a mighty pretty wench, with a mighty sweet
voice.
Woodc. Wench, indeed? Where be thy manners? 'Tis her Ladyship--
the Princess.
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