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Scene 2. The Weaver's home again, at night-time. The table, upon which a lamp burns feebly, now stands by the window. The shutters are closed and barred. Lightning is seen through the window in the loft, and distant thunder is heard. The door leading to the alley is undone from without, and JOAN and SIMON enter. JOAN. Do they still follow? SIMON. Nay, they pursued us no further than the mouth of the alley. JOAN. Then 'twas the echo of our own footsteps that frightened me. SIMON. (fastening the door) Malison on the knaves, and upon the base lord they serve! JOAN. Why do you do up the door, good man? Shall we rest in peace while our child remaineth in the castle? SIMON. (coming to her) Nay, but 'tis no work for thee. Keep thou within, and when I have regained my breath I will creep back to the castle through the shadows. JOAN. (clinging to him) They will surely beat thee again. SIMON. I feel naught, save that our little maid is stolen. JOAN. Saints forgive me! thou dost not believe she hath been party to this cruelty? SIMON. Wife! JOAN. (weeping) I know not what I say. SIMON. Did ye not hear her entreat that we might be well cared for? JOAN. Sooth, did I; and prettily 'twas spoke. SIMON. This is but a scurvy trick of this lord's to be rid of us. But bolts and chains will not hold her, once she learns how we have been misused. Buss me, wife, and let me go forth. JOAN. (listening) Hist! SIMON. The alley is quiet. JOAN. 'Tis neighbour Grimoald's magpie hath broken its cage once more and is beating its wings against our shutters. Lightning again, and a sharper peal of thunder. SIMON opens the door and LAINE enters swiftly. She is still in her rich clothes, but is carrying a poor-looking bundle. NOTE: This song does not appear in the vocal score that we used to prepare this Web Opera. Thus, we are presenting the lyrics only without any accompanying music. TRIO. - LAINE, JOAN, and SIMON. JOAN. 'Tis she! 'tis she! our little Laine! LAINE. Mother! Mother! SIMON. The flood is out, the night is wild! How came you through the blinding rain? JOAN. 'Tis Heaven hath sent us back our child!
Then weep not; thou art home again! LAINE. Mother! Mother! JOAN. Hush! think no more of what is past
Enough that thou art safe at last! LAINE. Not safe, not safe!
I may not rest The while this stone Doth tear and chafe My wounded breast! O! would 'twere gone! Yea that were best! Mother! Mother! ENSEMBLE.
Aye, truly all are not as he;
Thy beauty yet remains to thee! LAINE. Beauty! ah, let that beauty go!
'Twas Beauty brought lord Philip low, Whose spirit once had soared so high; 'Tis Beauty that hath wrought my woe! Dear Mother Mary, hear my cry! - Take it away, away! It breeds not joy, but sorrow, Though seeming fair to-day, 'Tis false to-morrow. 'Twas Death, not Life, that came When Beauty first was born! It brings not love, but shame, And hate, and scorn! Once more I fain would be Crooked, as when to-day I knelt and prayed to thee! Ah! take this thing away! Away! away!
She tears open her dress, removes the stone from about her neck, and casts it upon the ground at their feet; then, covering her face with her hands, she rushes away into her bed-chamber.
JOAN and SIMON. (at the door of LAINE's room). Laine! wench! JOAN Hath fastened up her door against us. SIMON. (leaving the door). Nay then, let her bide. The heart lightens when the tears flow. JOAN. (joining him) Gramercy, our child will be ugly again. SIMON True. Yet what matters that? She was happier as she was, it would seem. JOAN Aye, and more secure, as she saith. SIMON And when you think on't, she was ne'er ugly to us. JOAN She! ugly! SIMON The word was thine. JOAN Peace! your mind wanders, my man. (Looking down at the stone.) How shall we deal with the stone? The Friar may be miles away ere now. SIMON. (stooping to pick it up) Let us hide it. JOAN. (arresting his arm) Nay, touch it not. SIMON Why? JOAN She called it accursed. SIMON Accursed it cannot be, when it is the holiest of relics. After some hesitation he picks it up. JOAN. (in fear) Hold it further from thee. SIMON (gazing at the stone). Blessed St. Luke! 'tis of a ruddy, generous colour! JOAN . (regaining courage) Yea, so 'tis. SIMON. (glancing at LAINE's door) The foolish wench! (To JOAN.) Beshrew me! is't not a pity to waste it? JOAN What mean you? SIMON Though it hath wrought ill to one, doth it follow 'twould so harm another? JOAN Beauty bringeth shame, quo' she. SIMON Aye, upon a maid, because 'twill encourage unrighteous love. Yet it could bring no shame to thee. JOAN To me! SIMON To thee; for thou'rt a wife, and the love I still bear thee is righteous enough, heaven knows. JOAN Simon! Why, thy heart is not warm for me, after these years? SIMON Sooth, I am but ill-humoured with thee from sheer weariness of body. JOAN. (embracing him) Oh, my man, my man! SIMON Aye, in all my troubles I have ne'er lacked friend, with thee by my side. JOAN Heaven bless thee! Oft have we come near to starving together, yet to-day am I glad I wed thee. SIMON Joan, take thou the stone and let me see again the buxom lass I courted years agone at Zolden. JOAN Nay, rather let me see the comely lad who would walk out from Freyden o' Sundays with a bunch o' flowers in's hand. Dost remember? SIMON Ha! JOAN We were four - I and my girl mates; and thou didst choose me! SIMON So did I! JOAN Ha, ha, ha! me! Quick! hang thou the stone about thy neck. SIMON Not I. To see thee as thou wert would straighten me and ease my creaking bones. Take it, old love, 'tis for thee. JOAN. Nay, sweetheart - for thee, for thee!
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