Lewis. Ruined, no doubt! Lo! here the culprit comes.

[Elizabeth enters.]

Come hither, dearest. These, my knights and nobles,Lament your late unthrift (your conscience speaksThe causes of their blame); and wish you warned,As wisdom is the highest charity,No more to interfere, from private feeling,With heaven’s stern laws, or maim the sovereign’s wealth,To save superfluous villains’ worthless lives.

Eliz. Lewis!

Lewis. Not I, fair, but my counsellors,In courtesy, need some reply.

Eliz. My Lords;Doubtless, you speak as your duty bids you:I know you love my husband: do you thinkMy love is less than yours? ’Twas for his honourI dare not lose a single silly sheepOf all the flock which God had trusted to him.True, I had hoped by this—No matter what—Since to your sense it bears a different hue.I keep no logic. For my gifts, thank God,They cannot be recalled; for those poor souls,My pensioners—even for my husband’s knightly name,Oh! ask not back that slender loan of comfortMy folly has procured them: if, my Lords,My public censure, or disgraceful penanceMay expiate, and yet confirm my waste,I offer this poor body to the buffetsOf sternest justice: when I dared not spareMy husband’s lands, I dare not spare myself.

Lewis. No! no! My noble sister? What? my Lords!If her love move you not, her wisdom may.She knows a deeper statecraft, Sirs, than you:She will not throw away the substance, Abbot,To save the accident; waste living soulsTo keep, or hope to keep, the means of life.Our wisdom and our swords may fill our coffers,But will they breed us men, my Lords, or mothers?God blesses in the camp a noble rashness:Then why not in the storehouse? He that lendsTo Him, need never fear to lose his venture.Spend on, my Queen. You will not sell my castles?Nay, you must leave us Neuburg, love, and Wartburg.Their worn old stones will hardly pay the carriage,And foreign foes may pay untimely visits.

C. Wal. And home foes, too; if these philosophersPut up the curb, my Lord, a half-link tighter,The scythes will be among our horses’ legsBefore next harvest.

Lewis. Fear not for our welfare:We have a guardian here, well skilled to keepPeace for our seneschal, while angels, stoopingTo catch the tears she sheds for us in absence,Will sain us from the roaming adversaryWith scents of Paradise. Farewell, my Lords.

Eliz. Nay,—I must pray your knighthoods—You must honourOur dais and bower 

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