Isen. Nunc Domine dimittis servam tuam!

[Elizabeth looks over the letter and casket, claps her hands and bursts into childish laughter.]

Why here’s my Christmas tree come after Lent—Espousals? pledges? by our childish love?Pretty words for folks to think of at the wars,—And pretty presents come of them! Look, Guta!A crystal clear, and carven on the reverseThe blessed rood. He told me once—one night,When we did sit in the garden—What was I saying?

Wal. My fairest Princess, as ambassador,What shall I answer?

Eliz. Tell him—tell him—God!Have I grown mad, or a child, within the moment?The earth has lost her gray sad hue, and blazesWith her old life-light; hark! yon wind’s a song—Those clouds are angels’ robes.—That fiery westIs paved with smiling faces.—I am a woman,And all things bid me love! my dignityIs thus to cast my virgin pride away;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 profferTheir 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 eyeFlames like a fresh-caught hind’s. She that was christenedA 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 worthAre 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 superbiâDomine libera nos.

Min. ’Neath sandal red and samité,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 avaritiâDomine 

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