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JOAN. 'Look yon — 'tis she! my little Laine!
LAINE.     Mother! Mother!
SIMON.   The flood is out, the night is wild!
  How came you through the blinding rain?
JOAN.   'Tis Heaven hath sent us back our child!
  Then weep — then weep not, weep not, thou art home again!
LAINE.     Mother! Mother!
JOAN. Hush! think no more of what is past
Enough that thou art safe at last, art safe at last!!
LAINE.   Not safe, not safe! I may not rest
      The while this stone
Doth tear and chafe
    My wounded breast!
    O! would 'twere gone! Yea that were best!
      Mother! Mother!

LAINE. JOAN and SIMON.
Then let me cast Stay, stay! hold fast
Away this snare To what is there!
That made my lord Though this false lord
To use me ill, Hath used thee ill,
For all the past That now is past
Still lingers there; Still thou art fair;
Allthe past That now is past
Still lingers there; Still thou art fair;
My heart is scored And life's reward
And aching still! Awaits thee still!
My heart is aching still, Life's reward awaits thee still,
Is aching still, Awaits thee still,
Is aching still. Awaits thee still.

JOAN.
  Aye, truly all are not as he;
Thy beauty yet remains to thee!

LAINE.
  Beauty! ah, let that beauty go!
'Twas Beauty brought lord Philip low,
    Whose spirit once had soared so high;
  'Tis Beauty wrought my woe!
    Dear Mother Mary, hear my cry! —
  Take it away, away!
    It breeds not joy, but sorrow,
  Though seeming fair to-day,
    'Tis false to-morrow.
  'Twas Death, not Life, that came
    When Beauty first was born!
  It brings not love, but shame,
    And hate, and scorn!
  Once more I fain would be
    Crooked, as when the day
  I knelt and prayed to thee!
  Once more, once more I fain would be
    Crooked, as when the day
  I knelt and prayed to thee!
    Ah! take this thing away!
    Away! away!

She tears open her dress, removes the stone from about her neck, and casts it
upon the ground at their feet; then, covering her face with her hands, she rushes away into her bed-chamber.

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