ROSAMUND.

I will not. Mine are both by God’s own gift. I will not cast it from me. Ye may live Hereafter happy: never now shall I.

HILDEGARD.

HILDEGARD.

Have mercy. Nay, I cannot do it. And thou, Albeit thine heart be hot with hate as hell, Couldst say not, nor fold round with fairer speech, Those foul three words the Egyptian woman said Who tempted and could tempt not Joseph.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

No. He would not hearken. Joseph loved not her More than thine Almachildes me. But thou Shalt. Now no more may I debate with thee. Go.

HILDEGARD.

HILDEGARD.

God requite thee!

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

That shall he and I, Not thou, make proof of. If I plead with him, I crave of God but wrong’s requital. Go.

[Exit Hildegard.

Hildegard

And yet, God help me! Can I do it? God’s will May no man thwart, or leave his righteousness Baffled. I would not say, ‘My will be done,’ Were God’s will not for righteousness as mine, If right be righteous, wrong be wrong, must be. How else may God work wrong’s requital? I Must be or none may be his minister. And yet what righteousness is his to cast Athwart my way toward right this wrong to me, A sin against the soul and honour? Why Must this vile word of yet cross all my thought Always, a drifting doom or doubt that still Strikes up and floats against my purpose? God, Help me to know it! This weapon chosen of me, This Almachildes, 

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