SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
[Sitting at her feet. The lights grow dim.]
Ah, well, the prince
Promised to break the walls down. Don't you think
These villains are a sort of ploughshare, lady,
And where they plough, who knows what wheat may spring! The lights are burning low and very low;
So, Lady Marian, let me tell my dream.
There was a forester that bled to death
Because of four grey walls and a black nun
Whose face I could not see—but, oh, beware!
Though I am but your fool, your Shadow-of-a-Leaf,
Dancing before the wild winds of the future,
I feel them thrilling through my tattered wits
Long ere your wisdom feels them. My poor brain
Is like a harp hung in a willow-tree
Swept by the winds of fate. I am but a fool,
But oh, beware of that black-hooded nun.
MARIAN
This is no time for jesting, Shadow-of-a-Leaf.
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
The lights are burning low. Do you not feel
A cold breath on your face?
MARIAN
Fling back that shutter!
Look out and tell me what is happening.
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF