Eliz monologue (Act 4) — The Saint's Tragedy

Then I must up-- To matins, and to work--No, my work's over. And what is it, what? One drop of oil on the salt seething ocean! Thank God, that one was born at this same hour, Who did our work for us: we'll talk of Him: We shall go mad with thinking of ourselves-- We'll talk of Him, and of that new-made star, Which, as he stooped into the Virgin's side, From off His finger, like a signet-gem, He dropped in the empyrean for a sign. But the first tear He shed at this His birth-hour, When He crept weeping forth to see our woe, Fled up to Heaven in mist, and hid for ever Our sins, our works, and that same new-made star.