Eliz monologue (Act 3) — The Saint's Tragedy

And I, alas! am none! O Guta! dost thou mock my widowed love? I was a wife--'tis true: I was not worthy-- But there was meaning in that first wild fancy; 'Twas but the innocent springing of the sap-- The witless yearning of an homeless heart-- Do I not know that God has pardoned me? But now--to rouse and turn of mine own will, In cool and full foreknowledge, this worn soul Again to that, which, when God thrust it on me, Bred but one shame of ever-gnawing doubt, Were--No, my burning cheeks! We'll say no more. Ah! loved and lost! Though God's chaste grace should fail me, My weak idolatry of thee would give Strength that should keep me true: with mine own hands I'd mar this tear-worn face, till petulant man Should loathe its scarred and shapeless ugliness.