Poor foolish brother! didst thou look for payment?
Guta. But thou hast light in darkness: he has none--
The bird's the sport of time, while our life's floor
Is laid upon eternity; no crack in it
But shows the underlying heaven.
Eliz. Art sure?
Does this look like it, girl? No--I'll trust yet--
Some have gone mad for less; but why should I?
Who live in time, and not eternity.
'Twill end, girl, end; no cloud across the sun
But passes at the last, and gives us back
The face of God once more.
Guta. See here they come,
Dame Isentrudis and your children, all
Safe down the cliff path, through the whirling snow-drifts.
Eliz. O Lord, my Lord! I thank thee!
Loving and merciful, and tender-hearted,
And even in fiercest wrath remembering mercy.
Lo! here's my ancient foe. What want you, Sir?
[Hugo enters.]
Hugo. Want? Faith, 'tis you who want, not I, my Lady--
I hear, you are gone a begging through the town;
So, for your husband's sake, I'll take you in;
For though I can't forget your scurvy usage,
He was a very honest sort of fellow,
Though mad as a March hare; so come you in.
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