But in some corner, woe betide thee!
Among the beggars and cripples hide thee;
And so, though even God forgive,
On earth a damned existence live!

MARTHA

Commend your soul to God for pardon,
That you your heart with slander harden!

VALENTINE

Thou pimp most infamous, be still!
Could I thy withered body kill,
'Twould bring, for all my sinful pleasure,
Forgiveness in the richest measure.

MARGARET

My brother! This is Hell's own pain!

VALENTINE

I tell thee, from thy tears refrain!
When thou from honor didst depart
It stabbed me to the very heart.
Now through the slumber of the grave
I go to God as a soldier brave.

(_Dies_.)

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

XX

CATHEDRAL

SERVICE, ORGAN _and_ ANTHEM.

(MARGARET _among much people: the_ EVIL SPIRIT _behind_
MARGARET.)

EVIL SPIRIT

HOW otherwise was it, Margaret,
When thou, still innocent,
Here to the altar cam'st,
And from the worn and fingered book
Thy prayers didst prattle,
Half sport of childhood,
Half God within thee!
Margaret!
Where tends thy thought?
Within thy bosom
What hidden crime?
Pray'st thou for mercy on thy mother's soul,
That fell asleep to long, long torment, and through thee?
Upon thy threshold whose the blood?
And stirreth not and quickens
Something beneath thy heart,
Thy life disquieting
With most foreboding presence?

MARGARET

Woe! woe!
Would I were free from the thoughts
That cross me, drawing hither and thither
Despite me!

CHORUS

_Diesira, dies illa,
Solvet soeclum in favilla_!
_(Sound of the organ_.)

EVIL SPIRIT

Wrath takes thee!
The trumpet peals!
The graves tremble!
And thy heart
From ashy rest
To fiery torments
Now again requickened,
Throbs to life!

MARGARET

Would I were forth!
I feel as if the organ here
My breath takes from me,
My very heart
Dissolved by the anthem!

CHORUS

_Judex ergo cum sedebit,
Quidquid latet, ad parebit,
Nil inultum remanebit_.
MARGARET

I cannot breathe!
The massy pillars
Imprison me!
The vaulted arches
Crush me!--Air!

EVIL SPIRIT

Hide thyself! Sin and shame
Stay never hidden.
Air? Light?
Woe to thee!

CHORUS

_Quid sum miser tunc dicturus,
Quem patronem rogaturus,
Cum vix Justus sit securus_?

EVIL SPIRIT

They turn their faces,
The glorified, from thee:
The pure, their hands to offer,
Shuddering, refuse thee!
Woe!

CHORUS

_Quid