MERCHANTWe've all the treasure now,
So let's away before they've tracked us out.
I have a plan to win her.
You have time enough
If you would kill her and bear off her soul
Before they are upon us with their prayers;
They search the Western Tower.
That may not be.
We cannot face the heavenly host in arms.
Her soul must come to us of its own will,
But being of the ninth and mightiest Hell
Where all are kings, I have a plan to win it.
Lady, we've news that's crying out for speech.
(CATHLEEN wakes and comes to door of chapel.)
Who calls?
We have brought news.
What are you?
We are merchants, and we know the book of the world
Because we have walked upon its leaves; and there
Have read of late matters that much concern you;
And noticing the castle door stand open,
Came in to find an ear.
The door stands open,
That no one who is famished or afraid,
Despair of help or of a welcome with it.
But you have news, you say.
We saw a man,
Heavy with sickness in the bog of Allen,
Whom you had bid buy cattle. Near Fair Head
We saw your grain ships lying all becalmed
In the dark night; and not less still than they,
Burned all their mirrored lanthorns in the sea.
My thanks to God, to Mary and the angels,
That I have money in my treasury,
And can buy grain from those who have stored it up
To prosper on the hunger of the poor.
But you've been far and know the signs of things,
When will this famine end?
Day copies day,
And there's no sign of change, nor can it change,
With the wheat withered and the cattle dead.
And heard you of the demons who buy souls?
There are some men who hold they have wolves' heads,
And say their limbs – dried by the infinite flame —
Have all the speed of storms; others, again,
Say they are gross and little; while a few
Will have it they seem much as mortals are,
But tall and brown and travelled – like us, lady —
Yet all agree a power is in their looks
That makes men bow, and flings a casting-net
About their souls, and that all men would go
And barter those poor vapours, were it not
You bribe them with the safety of your gold.
Praise be to God, to Mary, and the angels
That I am wealthy! Wherefore do they sell?
As we came in at the great door we saw
Your porter sleeping in his niche – a soul
Too little to be worth a hundred pence,
And yet they buy it for a hundred crowns.
But for a soul like yours, I heard them say,
They would give five hundred thousand crowns and more.
How can a heap of crowns pay for a soul?
Is the green grave so terrible a thing?
Some sell because the money gleams, and some
Because they are in terror of the grave,
And some because their neighbours sold before,
And some because there is a kind of joy
In casting hope away, in losing joy,
In ceasing all resistance, in at last
Opening one's arms to the eternal flames,
In casting all sails out upon the wind;
To this – full of the gaiety of the lost —
Would all folk hurry if your gold were gone.
There is a something, Merchant, in your voice
That makes me fear. When you were telling how
A man may lose his soul and lose his God
Your eyes were lighted up, and when you told
How my poor money serves the people, both —
Merchants forgive me – seemed to smile.
I laugh
To think that all these people should be swung
As on a lady's shoe-string, – under them
The glowing leagues of never-ending flame.
There is a something in you that I fear;
A something not of us; were you not born
In some most distant corner of the world?
(The SECOND MERCHANT, who has been listening at the door, comes forward, and as he comes a sound of voices and feet is heard.)
Away now – they are in the passage – hurry,
For they will know us, and freeze up our hearts
With Ave Marys, and burn all our skin
With holy water.
Farewell; for we must ride
Many a mile before the morning come;
Our horses beat the ground impatiently.
(They go out. A number of PEASANTS enter by other door.)
Forgive us, lady, but we heard a noise.
We sat by the fireside telling vanities.
We heard a noise, but though we have searched the house
We have
