16 THE MOTHER’S TRAGEDY
O God! is any safety at Thy feet ?
Be silent, O be silent for awhile,
And I will shrivel up thy wretched ears,
Give thee to curse the hour that saw thee first,
To curse thy parents and thine own young head.
May God forbid that thou should rail on Him!
Leave me a little to my torment yet,
That I may quell the host of devil forms
That eat my soul up, many torturing,
And one—ah! one accurséd beyond all—
Soothing! O heart of Jesus, bleed with mine!
[Kuneels towards East.
See, see! I seek Thee on maternal knees !
Conceive Her pangs that bore Thee, when her shame
Devoured Her, with no memory of love—
As mine, as mine! O bitter memories! [4 fause.
ULRIC.
Tell me, dear friend! anxiety and love
Are like to kill me. Tell me in three words.
CORA, slowly and deliberately.
I am a dancer and a prostitute!
ULRIC smiles contemptuously.
Why trick me with so pitiful a lie?
Were you the vilest woman on the earth,
Mere scum of filth shed off the city’s dregs—
Were you the meanest and most treacherous—
Were you the sordid soul that most contrasts