A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vi Part 70

If world would end, my woe should but begin: Lo, this the case of Conscience for her sin; And sin the food, wherewith my worm was fed, That stings me now to death, yet never dead.

LOVE.

Yet never dead, and yet Love doth not live, Love, that to loss in life her folly led[249], Folly the food whereon her frailty fed, Frailty the milk that Nature's breast did give: Life, loss, and folly: frailty, food, and kind, Worm, sting, thorns, fire, and torment to the mind; Life but a breath, and folly but a flower, Frailty, clay, dust, the food that fancy scorns; Love a sweet bait to cover losses sour, Flesh breeds the fire that kindles l.u.s.tful thorns; l.u.s.t, fire, bait, scorn, dust, flower and feeble breath, Die, quench, deceive, flie, fade, and yield to death.

To death? O good! if death might finish all: We die each day, and yet for death we call.

LUCRE.

For death we call, yet death is still in sight.

Lucre doth scald in drops of melting gold Accusing rust calls on eternal night[250], Where flames consume, and yet we freeze with cold.

Sorrow adds sulphur unto fury's heat, And chops them ice whose chattering teeth do beat; But sulphur, snow, flame, frost, nor hideous crying Can cause them die that ever are in dying, Nor make the pain diminish or increase: Sorrow is slack, and yet will never cease.

SORROW.

When Sorrow ceaseth, Shame shall then begin With those that wallow senseless in their sin.

But, ladies, I have drawn you from my den To open air, to mitigate some moan.

Conscience, sit down upon that sweating stone, And let that flint, Love, serve thee for a seat; And, Lady Lucre, on that stone rest you.

And, ladies, thus I leave you here alone.

Mourn ye, but moan not I shall absent be; But good it were sometime to think on me.

[_Exit_.]

CONSCIENCE.

Comfort it is to think on sorrow past.

LOVE.

Sorrow remains, where joy is but a blast.

LUCRE.

A blast of wind is world's felicity.

CONSCIENCE.

A blasting wind, and full of misery.

LOVE.

O Conscience, thou hast more tormented me.

LUCRE.

Me hath thy worm, O Conscience, stung too deep.

CONSCIENCE.

But more myself my thoughts tormented have, Than both of you, in Sorrow's sullen cave; From whence drawn forth, I find but little rest: A seat uneasy, wet, and scalding hot, On this hard stone hath Sorrow me a.s.sign'd.

LOVE.

And on my seat myself I frozen find: No flint more hard, no ice more cold than this.

LUCRE.

I think my seat some mineral stone to be; I cold from it, it draw[eth] heat from me.

Ladies, consent, and we our seats will view.

CONSCIENCE.

Dare we for shame our stained faces shew?

LOVE.

My double face is single grown again.

LUCRE.

My spots are gone: my skin is smooth and plain.

CONSCIENCE.

Doff we our veils, and greet this gladsome light; The chaser of gloom, Sorrow's heavy night[251].

LOVE.

Hail, cheerful air, and clearest crystal sky.

LUCRE.

Hail, shining sun and fairest firmament, Comfort to those that time in woe have spent.

CONSCIENCE.

Upon my weeping stone is set REMORSE in brazen letters.

LOVE.

And on this flint in lead is CHARITY.

LUCRE.

In golden letters on my stone is CARE.

CONSCIENCE.

Then Lucre sits upon the stone of Care.

LUCRE.

And Conscience on the marble of Remorse.

LOVE.

Love on the flint of frozen Charity.

Ladies, alas, what tattered souls are we.

CONSCIENCE.

Sorrow our hearts, and time our clothes hath torn.

LUCRE.

Then sit we down like silly souls forlorn, And hide our faces that we be not known; For Sorrow's plagues tormenteth[252] me no more, Than will their sight, that knew me heretofore.

LOVE.

Then will their sight, that knew us heretofore, Draw ruth and help from them for our relief.

CONSCIENCE.

For our relief? for Conscience and for Love No help, small ruth that our distress may move.

LOVE.

O Conscience, thou wouldst lead me to despair, But that I see the way to hope is fair, And hope to heaven directs a ready way, And heaven to help is prest to them that pray.

LUCRE.