Mob. God bless the good Count!—Bless the holy Princess—Hurrah for wheat—Hurrah for one full stomach.

Mer. Ah! that’s my wheat! treason, my wheat, my money!

Eliz. Where is the wretch’s wheat?

Wal. Below, my lady;We counted on the charm of your sweet words,And so did for him what, your sermon ended,He would have done himself.

Knight. ’Twere rude to doubt it.

Mer. Ye rascal barons!What! Are we burghers monkeys for your pastime?We’ll clear the odds. [Seizes Walter.]

Wal. Soft, friend—a worm will turn.

Voices below. Throw him down.

Wal. Dost hear that, friend?Those pups are keen-toothed; they have eat of lateWorse bacon to their bread than thee. Come, come,Put up thy knife; we’ll give thee market-price—And if thou must have more—why, take it outIn board and lodging in the castle dungeon.

[Walter leads him out; the Mob, etc., disperse.]

Eliz. Now then—there’s many a one lies faint at home—I’ll go to them myself.

Isen. What now? start forthIn this most bitter frost, so thinly clad?

Eliz. Tut, tut, I wear my working dress to-day,And those who work, robe lightly—

Isen. Nay, my child,For once keep up your rank.

Eliz. Then I had bestRoll to their door in lacqueyed equipage,And dole my halfpence from my satin purse—I am their sister—I must look like one.I am their queen—I’ll prove myself the greatestBy being the minister of all. So come—Now to my pastime, [aside] And in happy toilForget this whirl of doubt—We are weak, we are weak,Only when still: put thou thine hand to the plough,The spirit drives thee on.

Isen. You live too fast!

Eliz. Too fast? We live too slow—our gummy bloodWithout fresh purging airs from heaven, would chokeSlower and slower, till it stopped and froze.God! fight we not within a cursed world,Whose very air teems thick with leagued fiends—Each word we speak has infinite effects—Each soul we pass must go to heaven or hell—And this our one chance through eternityTo drop and die, like dead leaves in the brake,Or like 

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