The Saint's Tragedy eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 146 pages of information about The Saint's Tragedy.
And find my strength in weakness.—­Busy brain! 
Thou keep’st pace with my heart; old lore, old fancies,
Buried for years, leap from their tombs, and proffer
Their magic service to my new-born spirit. 
I’ll go—­I am not mistress of myself—­
Send for him—­bring him to me—­he is mine! [Exit.]

Isen.  Ah! blessed Saints! how changed upon the moment! 
She is grown taller, trust me, and her eye
Flames like a fresh-caught hind’s.  She that was christened
A brown mouse for her stillness!  Good my Lord! 
Now shall mine old bones see the grave in peace!

SCENE IV

The Bridal Feast.  Elizabeth, Lewis, Sophia, and Company seated at the Dais table.  Court Minstrel and Court Fool sitting on the Dais steps.

Min.  How gaily smile the heavens,
The light winds whisper gay;
For royal birth and knightly worth
Are knit to one to-day.

Fool [drowning his voice]. 
So we’ll flatter them up, and we’ll cocker them up,
Till we turn young brains;
And pamper the brach till we make her a wolf,
And get bit by the legs for our pains.

Monks [chanting without]. 
A fastu et superbia
Domine libera nos.

Min.  ’Neath sandal red and samite,
Are knights and ladies set;
The henchmen tall stride through the hall,
The board with wine is wet.

Fool.  Oh! merrily growls the starving hind,
At my full skin;
And merrily howl wolf, wind, and owl,
While I lie warm within.

Monks.  A luxu et avaritia
Domine libera nos.

Min.  Hark! from the bridal bower,
Rings out the bridesmaid’s song;
’’Tis the mystic hour of an untried power,
The bride she tarries long.’

Fool.  She’s schooling herself and she’s steeling herself,
Against the dreary day,
When she’ll pine and sigh from her lattice high
For the knight that’s far away.

Monks.  A carnis illectamentis
Domine libera nos.

Min.  Blest maid! fresh roses o’er thee
The careless years shall fling;
While days and nights shall new delights
To sense and fancy bring.

Fool.  Satins and silks, and feathers and lace,
Will gild life’s pill;
In jewels and gold folks cannot grow old,
Fine ladies will never fall ill.

Monks.  A vanitatibus saeculi
Domine libera nos.

[Sophia descends from the Dais, leading Elizabeth.  Ladies follow.]

Sophia [to the Fool].  Silence, you screech-owl.—­
Come strew flowers, fair ladies,
And lead into her bower our fairest bride,
The cynosure of love and beauty here,
Who shrines heaven’s graces in earth’s richest casket.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
The Saint's Tragedy from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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