Osw. Faugh, there's the monk again! Why, boy, we'll pray
The better for a little tripping,—fight
The better too. One dance with Berenice!
A beauty, sir, who makes me hate the years
That lie 'tween youth and me. She was to wed
A son of mine by vow above her cradle,
And I have buried every son save you.
Ber. May I not keep one vow?
Osw. The pope long since
Released you. Now——
Ber. My compact was with Christ.
Osw. Why cling to one when all the rest are broken?
Ber. It is the one lies wholly in my choice.
Osw. You left your cell.
Ber. Do you forget 'twas you
Who shook to ground my cloister walls, and locked
All holy doors against me?
Osw. True, I did it.
And with good warrant. Broadest Christendom
Upheld my right and gave me back my heir.
Small gain if you refuse to wed. My need
Is not for sons but grandsons now. My boy,
You'll let me see your children at my knee?
Ho, hide your face? Then there's a heart in you.
Why should I toil through blood and groans and fire
To make a name my shroud will wrap with me?
Ber. Toil then to give this land to God, and live
So long as love shall live in men.