In this game let our Lord God be! 
What’s done’s already done, alas! 
What follows it, must come to pass. 
With one begin’st thou secretly,
Then soon will others come to thee,
And when a dozen thee have known,
Thou’rt also free to all the town. 
When Shame is born and first appears,
She is in secret brought to light,
And then they draw the veil of night
Over her head and ears;
Her life, in fact, they’re loath to spare her. 
But let her growth and strength display,
She walks abroad unveiled by day,
Yet is not grown a whit the fairer. 
The uglier she is to sight,
The more she seeks the day’s broad light. 
The time I verily can discern
When all the honest folk will turn
From thee, thou jade! and seek protection
As from a corpse that breeds infection. 
Thy guilty heart shall then dismay thee. 
When they but look thee in the face:—­
Shalt not in a golden chain array thee,
Nor at the altar take thy place! 
Shalt not, in lace and ribbons flowing,
Make merry when the dance is going! 
But in some corner, woe betide thee! 
Among the beggars and cripples hide thee;
And so, though even God forgive,
On earth a damned existence live!

MARTHA

Commend your soul to God for pardon,
That you your heart with slander harden!

VALENTINE

Thou pimp most infamous, be still! 
Could I thy withered body kill,
’Twould bring, for all my sinful pleasure,
Forgiveness in the richest measure.

MARGARET

My brother!  This is Hell’s own pain!

VALENTINE

I tell thee, from thy tears refrain! 
When thou from honor didst depart
It stabbed me to the very heart. 
Now through the slumber of the grave
I go to God as a soldier brave.

(Dies.)

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

XX

CATHEDRAL

SERVICE, ORGAN and ANTHEM.

(MARGARET among much people:  the EVIL SPIRIT behind
MARGARET.)

EVIL SPIRIT

HOW otherwise was it, Margaret,
When thou, still innocent,
Here to the altar cam’st,
And from the worn and fingered book
Thy prayers didst prattle,
Half sport of childhood,
Half God within thee! 
Margaret! 
Where tends thy thought? 
Within thy bosom
What hidden crime? 
Pray’st thou for mercy on thy mother’s soul,
That fell asleep to long, long torment, and through thee? 
Upon thy threshold whose the blood? 
And stirreth not and quickens
Something beneath thy heart,
Thy life disquieting
With most foreboding presence?