hou hast given to me, Lord, here I bring Thee,
Odour, and light, and the magic of gold;
Feet which must follow Thee, lips which must sing Thee,
Limbs which must ache for Thee ere they grow old.

What Thou hast given to me, Lord, here I tender,
Life of mine own life, the fruit of my love;
Take him, yet leave him me, till I shall render
Count of the precious charge, kneeling above.

[They pass up the path. The Peasants come out.]

Peas. No ghost, but a mighty pretty wench, with a mighty sweet
voice.

Woodc. Wench, indeed? Where be thy manners? 'Tis her Ladyship--
the Princess.

Peas. The Princess! Ay, I thought those little white feet were but
lately out of broadcloth--still, I say, a mighty sweet voice--I wish
she had not sung so sweetly--it makes things to arise in a body's
head, does that singing: a wonderful handsome lady! a royal lady!

Woodc. But a most unwise one. Did ye mind the gold? If I had such
a trencherful, it should sleep warm in a stocking, instead of being
made a brother to owls here, for every rogue to snatch at.

Peas. Why, then? who dare harm such as her, man?

Woodc. Nay, nay, none of us, we are poor folks, we fear God and the
king. But if she had met a gentleman now--heaven help her! Ah!
thou hast lost a chance--thou might'st have run out promiscuously,
and down on thy knees, 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 fro