Wilt thou slay thy soul and mine?
ALMACHILDES.
Wilt thou
Madden me? God hath given us up to her
Who is deadlier than the fiery fang of death—
Us, innocent and loyal.
HILDEGARD.
Nay, if I
Forgive her love of thee—though this be hard,
Canst thou forgive not?
ALMACHILDES.
Sweet, for thee and me
Remains no rescue save by death or flight
From worse than flight or death is.
HILDEGARD.
Worse is nought
But shame: and how may shame take hold on us,
On us who have sinned not? Me she bound to play thee
False, and betray thee to her arms: I might not
Choose, though my heart should rend itself in twain
And cleave with ravenous anguish: yet I live.
Vex not thy soul too sorely: me, not her,
Thy spirit embraced, thine arms and lips made thine
Me, not my darkling wraith, my changeling foe,
My thief of love, our traitress. This I bid thee,
Forget thy fear and shame to have wronged me: night
Breeds treacherous dreams that can but poison day
If thought be found so base a fool as dares
Fear. Did I doubt thy love of me, I durst not
Live or look back upon thee.
ALMACHILDES.