and begged thy pardon for the newcomer’s sake. There was a chance, indeed.

Peas. Pooh, man, I have done nothing but lose chances all my days. I fell into the fire the day I was christened, and ever since I am like a fresh-trimmed fir-tree; every foul feather sticks to me.

Woodc. Go, shrive thyself, and the priest will scrub off thy turpentine with a new haircloth; and now, good-day, the maids are a-waiting for their firewood.

Peas. A word before you go—Take warning by me—avoid that same serpent, wisdom—Pray to the Saints to make you a blockhead—Never send your boys to school—For Heaven knows, a poor man that will live honest, and die in his bed, ought to have no more scholarship than a parson, and no more brains than your jackass.

SCENE VII

The Gateway of a Castle. Elizabeth and her suite standing at the top of a flight of steps. Mob below.

Peas. Bread! Bread! Bread! give us bread; we perish.

1st Voice. Ay, give, give, give! God knows, we’re long past earning.

2d Voice. Our skeleton children lie along in the roads—

3d Voice. Our sheep drop dead about the frozen leas—

4th Voice. Our harness and our shoes are boiled for food—

Old Man’s Voice. Starved, withered, autumn hay that thanks the scythe!Send out your swordsmen, mow the dry bents down,And make this long death short—we’ll never struggle.

All. Bread! Bread!

Eliz. Ay, bread—Where is it, knights and servants?Why butler, seneschal, this food forthcomes not!

Butler. Alas, we’ve eaten all ourselves: heaven knowsThe pages broke the buttery hatches down—The boys were starved almost.

Voice below. Ay, she can find enough to feast her minions.

Woman’s Voice. How can she know what ’tis, for months and monthsTo stoop and straddle in the clogging fallows,Bearing about a living babe within you?And then at night to fat yourself and itOn fir-bark, madam, and water.

Eliz. 

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