ESTRILD.
And wilt thou hear
All? Child, my child, love born of love, more dear
Than very love was ever! Hearken then.
This plague, this fire, that hunts us—Guendolen—
Was wedded to thy sire ere I and he
Cast ever eyes on either. Woe is me!
Thou canst not dream, sweet, what my soul would say
And not affright thee.
SABRINA.
Thou affright me? Nay,
Mock not. This evil woman—when he knew
Thee, this my sweet good mother, wise and true—
He cast from him and hated.
ESTRILD.
Yea—and now
For that shall haply he and I and thou
Die.
SABRINA.
What is death? I never saw his face
That I should fear it.
ESTRILD.
Whether grief or grace
Or curse or blessing breathe from it, and give
Aught worse or better than the life we live,
I know no more than thou knowest; perchance,
Less. When we sleep, they say, or fall in trance,
We die awhile. Well spake thine innocent breath—
I think there is no death but fear of death.