Lewis monologue (Act 2) — The Saint's Tragedy

No! no! My noble sister? What? my Lords! If her love move you not, her wisdom may. She knows a deeper statecraft, Sirs, than you: She will not throw away the substance, Abbot, To save the accident; waste living souls To keep, or hope to keep, the means of life. Our wisdom and our swords may fill our coffers, But will they breed us men, my Lords, or mothers? God blesses in the camp a noble rashness: Then why not in the storehouse? He that lends To Him, need never fear to lose his venture. Spend on, my Queen. You will not sell my castles? Nay, you must leave us Neuburg, love, and Wartburg. Their worn old stones will hardly pay the carriage, And foreign foes may pay untimely visits.