SCENE I


A chamber in the Wartburg. Elizabeth sitting in widow's weeds; Guta
and Isentrudis by her.

Isen. What? Always thus, my Princess? Is this wise,
By day with fasts and ceaseless coil of labour;
About the ungracious poor--hands, eyes, feet, brain
O'ertasked alike--'mid sin and filth, which make
Each sense a plague--by night with cruel stripes,
And weary watchings on the freezing stone,
To double all your griefs, and burn life's candle,
As village gossips say, at either end?
The good book bids the heavy-hearted drink,
And so forget their woe.

Eliz. 'Tis written too
In that same book, nurse, that the days shall come
When the bridegroom shall be taken away--and then--
Then shall they mourn and fast: I needed weaning
From sense and earthly joys; by this way only
May I win God to leave in mine own hands
My luxury's cure: oh! I may bring him back,
By working out to its full depth the chastening
The need of which his loss proves: I but barter
Less grief for greater--pain for widowhood.

Isen. And death for life--your cheeks are wan and sharp