Keep thine hands off—I’ll not be shamed—Lead on. Farewell, my Ladies.Follow not! There’s want to spare on earth already;And mine own woe is weight enough for me.Go back, and say, Elizabeth has yetEternal homes, built deep in poor men’s hearts;And, in the alleys underneath the wall,Has bought with sinful mammon heavenly treasure,More sure than adamant, purer than white whales’ bone,Which now she claims. Lead on: a people’s love shall right me. [Exit with Servant.]

Guta. Where now, dame?

Isen. Where, but after her?

Guta. True heart!I’ll follow to the death. [Exeunt.]

SCENE II

A street. Elizabeth and Guta at the door of a Convent. Monks in the porch.

Eliz. You are afraid to shelter me—afraid.And so you thrust me forth, to starve and freeze.Soon said. Why palter o’er these mean excuses,Which tempt me to despise you?

Monks. Ah! my lady,We know your kindness—but we poor religiousAre bound to obey God’s ordinance, and submitUnto the powers that be, who have forbiddenAll men, alas! to give you food or shelter.

Eliz. Silence! I’ll go. Better in God’s hand than man’s.He shall kill us, if we die. This bitter blastWarping the leafless willows, yon white snow-storms,Whose wings, like vengeful angels, cope the vault,They are God’s,—We’ll trust to them.

[Monks go in.]

Guta. Mean-spirited!Fair frocks hide foul hearts. Why, their altar nowIs blazing with your gifts.

Eliz. How long their altar?To God I gave—and God shall pay me back.Fool! to have put my trust in living man,And fancied that I bought God’s love, by buyingThe greedy thanks of these His earthly tools!Well—here’s one lesson learnt! I thank thee, Lord!Henceforth I’ll straight to Thee, and to Thy poor.What? Isentrudis not returned? Alas!Where are those children?They will not have the heart to keep them from me—Oh! have the traitors harmed them?

Guta. Do not think it.The dowager has a woman’s heart.

Eliz. Ay, ay—But she’s a mother—and mothers will dare all things—Oh! Love can make us fiends, as well as angels.My babies! Weeping? Oh, have mercy, Lord!On me heap all thy wrath—I understand it:What can blind senseless terror do for them?

Guta. 

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