74 
MORTADELLO 
 
Citizens, kneel !  to your knees and gaze upon your saint ! 
[All fall upon their knees, and with clasped hands 
gaze upwards to the window, where in a moment 
MONICA, with arms crossed upon her breast 
appears. 
MONICA.  There is no need of West or East, of moon or sun. 
The door is shut, the marriage feast of God begun. 
There is a song that never tires, and there a light 
More sweet and strong than all the fires of day or night 
There is a taste, a savour shed ;  is honey sweet, 
Is moon-wort chaste ?  Its flavour fed the Paraclete ! 
There is a grace and a perfume no earthly bower 
Showers from its space of lily-bloom and passion flower. 
There is a touch, sublime, caress beyond all kisses 
Kissed overmuch in love’s distress—they are not as this is ! 
Ah, me unworthy of the love of God !  me stained 
With every sin, and bruised with every rod !  me drained 
Of all things, given up to the great King !  me brought 
By infinite mercy to his banqueting, me wrought 
Out of myself, out of all earthly taint !  Me shod 
Even with the silver sandals of a saint of God ! 
ALESSANDRO.  She is with God, not upon earth ! 
A CITIZEN. 
 
Ask for her prayers. 
MONICA.  Thy will be done, thy will, O God, not mine or 
theirs ! 
Purge me of will !  It was my wicked will that kept 
Me back so long, so long, from rousing That which slept 
ALESSANDRO.  O Lady Monica !  can you not speak one 
word ? 
MONICA.  My ears are open, yet in sooth I have not heard. 
ALESSANDRO.  Pray for us !