University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Chamber.
Barbara bearing a large charger of silver—and Screitch.
BARBARA.
She sends me back to thank thee for thy love,
But will not taste thy poly-balsamum:—
Scarce she endures its sight.

SCREITCH.
Why not?—she must!

BARBARA.
She would for thy sake, but she cannot, eat.

SCREITCH.
Months have been spared for study on the mess;
Books searched by candle-light to make it healthful—
But, lo, 'tis perfected a day too late!
The lips are cold for which I toiled so much!
Let her but taste it, Barbara.

BARBARA.
She abhors it.
The will is with thee, but the sense eschews.

SCREITCH.
Didst thou recount its properties?

BARBARA.
At large;
The just proportions might o'ertask my skill;
But yet I named the meats. A molewarp brayed.
A coney's kidneys stewed with juniper.
The brain and fat of peacocks chased to falling.
A running capon's legs; and swallow's oil.
But chief the goat with no white hair about him—
His gall, his tongue, his marrow.

SCREITCH.
These for strength.

BARBARA.
A hedge-pig's lights and bristles; fennel, tansy,
With ambergris, and yeast.

SCREITCH.
To quicken life—
Its spur and sharp propulsion.

BARBARA.
Gillyflowers.
Hops plucked before the night-dews leave their clusters.
Eft's eyes, dried cray-fish shells, and blindworm's eggs;
With twelve white pebbles gathered from the brook
When Sol declines from Scorpio.

SCREITCH.
What I missed
Was moss from off a dead man's skull unburied,
But trust I found the equivalent.

BARBARA.
She thanks thee.
Such pains deserve so much, at least.—But meats
Which should have helped thy pottage heal her mother,
How shall their virtues profit her?

SCREITCH.
The branch
Is parcel of the tree, though broken from it—
The flower is nourished as its stalk. In this
I worked with Nature heedfully, and mixed
Dried thistle-beards, and pounded columbine,
Seeds from the sunflower, and a rock-dove's trail.

BARBARA.
I saw thee chase a porker round about,
And fight the ram, by moonlight, for his horns;
No cost was spared!

SCREITCH.
I grudge nor toil nor charge—
But needs must grieve that both are profitless!

BARBARA.
It grieves her more to seem unthankful toward thee.

SCREITCH.
'Tis pity next to sin we waste it thus!

BARBARA.
Set by the charger till her loathing leave her.

SCREITCH.
I may not, child! The moon will wane at eve:
Our herbs change with her from their wholesomeness.
Who eats must make good speed. Bring spoons and napkins—
We two will profit wisely by mischance.
That vessel's sides are warmed with lusty health,
And many days.

BARBARA.
To make our numbers equal,
Thou shalt eat threefold more than I.

SCREITCH.
I will.

[Exeunt.