University of Virginia Library

I.

Scene. The Porch of a Church. A Stormy Night.
Bertha.
And so they drive us from their door,
One and another. Rest we here.

Roland.
Yea, let us rest. But, mother dear,
How comes it that we are so poor,
And have to beg for food and drink,
And go about in poor attire?
For, when I look at you, I think
You should have all your heart's desire,
Like any queen, in wine and meat;
Instead of rags, with naked feet,
You should in silks and satins go:
Why are we poor?

Bertha.
I do not know,
Save that the Lord hath willed it so;
Often I think that you should be
The best-housed boy in Christendie;
And go in choice apparel; and fly
Your hawks against the morning sky;
And—

Roland.
Oh, that would indeed be grand!

Bertha.
And have a pony to command—

Roland.
Oh, mother dear! When will it be
That I these joyful things shall see,
And have a pony of my own,
And fly my hawks? (jumping)


Bertha.
Ah, mind the stone,
Or you may hurt your feet unshod!

Roland.
Stay, mother, I will pray to God,
This night, to make a queen of you,
And give you clothes of gold and blue,
And venison fair when you must dine,
And shining goblets filled with wine;
A crown of diamonds for your head;
A necklace of the coral red—

Bertha.
Come, Roland, that, I think, will do,
For a poor shoeless boy like you,
And a poor half-clad lady—

Roland.
Oh,
You are a lady? Now, I know
I always thought you were!

Bertha.
And I,
What shall I wish for, for my boy,
My noble Roland, my dear son?
The hawks, the pony—But, have done
How faint I feel! Cold falls the rain;
Not for the state of Charlemagne
Would I this night have turned away
A beggar from my door.

Roland.
But pray,
Who, mother, is this Emperor,
This Charlemagne? What is he for?
Shall I go to him?

Bertha.
Help us, saints!

Roland.
Oh, some one help! My mother faints!