Psychologies

Theodora. Ostyn.Hear us, O God of Wrath!O God of Love, Hear us, Thy children, and forgive!

(They rise.) Ostyn. Hear us, Thy children, and forgive!My friend, You weep—altho’ we triumph. That must be, Alas! But wipe this horror from you now, Nor let it ache for ever, like some despair Whose secret hamper to the soul we feel But name not. Wipe it from you—like this blood, Which thus I purge from off th’ untarnisht steel Once and for all. Come, we must take the time, And move. The servants of that evil man Will seek him. Yonder too another storm, Ere yet the trees have shed their scope of tears, Stands muttering in the zenith. Come then, friend.

I have an aged cousin living in the city, And she will shelter you. As for myself— If’t please you that I may remain with you, Your servant, I’d be glad indeed. That once I loved you ere you wedded (and do still), If such a poor humpt creature as myself Dare call his sighing love, will not disgust you Who know it—for I never have conceal’d it.

You are the noblest woman in the world; But my poor love is such a thing to laugh at, You need not heed it. Now you are alone, I may indeed give up my life to you And be your servant.

(The tempest pauses. Silence.) Theodora. And be your servant.Your sword is clean, you say, But look upon those startled flowers there, Those innocent flowers—what smearèd stains of death Would make them seeming-guilty. What have they done?

Not they have pierced a man’s heart, poor white things, That yet look unwasht murd’rers; while the sword Gleams icy pure, like some fire-eyèd angel New-born in Heaven.