Be but the mouthpiece to my father, sir;
And tell him--for I would not anger him--
Tell him, I am content--say, happy--tell him
I prove my kin by prayers for him, and masses
For her who bore me. We shall meet on high.
And say, his daughter is a mighty tree,
From whose wide roots a thousand sapling suckers,
Drink half their life; she dare not snap the threads,
And let her offshoots wither. So farewell.
Within the convent there, as mine own guests,
You shall be fitly lodged. Come here no more.
C. Wal. C. Pama. Farewell, sweet Saint! [Exeunt.]
Eliz. May God go with you both.
No! I will win for him a nobler name,
Than captive crescents, piles of turbaned heads,
Or towns retaken from the Tartar, give.
In me he shall be greatest; my report
Shall through the ages win the quires of heaven
To love and honour him; and hinds, who bless
The poor man's patron saint, shall not forget
How she was fathered with a worthy sire. [Exit.]
SCENE III
Night. Interior of Elizabeth's hut. A leprous boy sleeping on a
Mattress. Elizabeth watching by him.]
Eliz. My shrunk limbs, stiff from many a blow,
Are crazed with pain.
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