Thou rotten, shameful procuress, And crush thee, I might hope to gain Pardon for all my wickedness.

MARGARET.

Brother, what dreadful wretchedness!

VALENTINE.

Leave tears, I say; thy maiden fame when thou Renounced'st, 'twas the wound that reached my

heart;

Through death's sleep to God's footstool must I now, A soldier and an honest man, depart.

[dies.

Margaret, what other days were thine,

When, still the child of innocence,
Here camest thou to the altar;
And from the book thou hast profaned,*
Lispedst forth prayers,

Half child's prattle,

Half God in thy heart!

Margaret!

Where wilt thou seek refuge?

In thy heart

What evil deeds?

Prayest thou for the soul of her, thy mother,

Who through thee slept the sleep that wakes to endless pain?

* Vergriffen means also, out of print, offended, outraged, iolated.

Whose blood is it that lieth at thy door?

Close to thy heart

Throbs it not even now,
Disquieting itself and thee

With its ill-omened presence?

MARGARET.

Woe! woe!

Would God that I were free

From thoughts that flash athwart me,

EVIL SPIRIT.

The glorified their countenances turn
Away from thee;

The spotless shudder at the thought
Of helping thee.

Woe!

CHOIR.

Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?

MARGARET.

Neighbour!-your salts!

[She faints.