The Duchess of Padua. Wilde Oscar

      And so they go to Abraham’s bosom, Madam.

      They should thank me for sending them to Heaven,

      If they are wretched here. [To the Cardinal.]

      Is it not said

      Somewhere in Holy Writ, that every man

      Should be contented with that state of life

      God calls him to? Why should I change their state,

      Or meddle with an all-wise providence,

      Which has apportioned that some men should starve,

      And others surfeit? I did not make the world.

      He hath a hard heart.

      Nay, be silent, neighbour;

      I think the Cardinal will speak for us.

      True, it is Christian to bear misery,

      Yet it is Christian also to be kind,

      And there seem many evils in this town,

      Which in your wisdom might your Grace reform.

      What is that word reform?  What does it mean?

      Marry, it means leaving things as they are; I like it not.

      Reform Lord Cardinal, did you say reform?

      There is a man in Germany called Luther,

      Who would reform the Holy Catholic Church.

      Have you not made him heretic, and uttered

      Anathema, maranatha, against him?

      He would have led the sheep out of the fold,

      We do but ask of you to feed the sheep.

      When I have shorn their fleeces I may feed them.

      As for these rebels –  [Duchess entreats him.]

      That is a kind word,

      He means to give us something.

      Is that so?

      These ragged knaves who come before us here,

      With mouths chock-full of treason.

      Good my Lord,

      Fill up our mouths with bread; we’ll hold our tongues.

      Ye shall hold your tongues, whether you starve or not.

      My lords, this age is so familiar grown,

      That the low peasant hardly doffs his hat,

      Unless you beat him; and the raw mechanic

      Elbows the noble in the public streets.

      Still as our gentle Duchess has so prayed us,

      And to refuse so beautiful a beggar

      Were to lack both courtesy and love,

      Touching your grievances, I promise this —

      Marry, he will lighten the taxes!

      Or a dole of bread, think you, for each man?

      That, on next Sunday, the Lord Cardinal

      Shall, after Holy Mass, preach you a sermon

      Upon the Beauty of Obedience.

      I’ faith, that will not fill our stomachs!

      A sermon is but a sorry sauce, when

      You have nothing to eat with it.

      Poor people,

      You see I have no power with the Duke,

      But if you go into the court without,

      My almoner shall from my private purse,

      Divide a hundred ducats ’mongst you all.

      God save the Duchess, say I.

      God save her.

      And every Monday morn shall bread be set

      For those who lack it.

      Why, God save the Duchess again!

      Come hither, fellow! what is your name?

      Dominick, sir.

      A good name!  Why were you called Dominick?

      Marry, because I was born on St. George’s day.

      A good reason! here is a ducat for you!

      Will you not cry for me God save the Duke?

      God save the Duke.

      Nay! louder, fellow, louder.

      God save the Duke!