Eliz. Not so, not so--They wept
When I did bid them, as I bid thee now
To think of nought but love.

Lewis. Elizabeth!
Speak! I will know the meaning of this madness!

Eliz. Beloved, thou hast heard how godly souls,
In every age, have tamed the rebel flesh
By such sharp lessons. I must tread their paths,
If I would climb the mountains where they rest.
Grief is the gate of bliss--why wedlock--knighthood--
A mother's joy--a hard-earned field of glory--
By tribulation come--so doth God's kingdom.

Lewis. But doleful nights, and self-inflicted tortures--
Are these the love of God? Is He well pleased
With this stern holocaust of health and joy?

Eliz. What! Am I not as gay a lady-love
As ever clipt in arms a noble knight?
Am I not blithe as bird the live-long day?
It pleases me to bear what you call pain,
Therefore to me 'tis pleasure: joy and grief
Are the will's creatures; martyrs kiss the stake--
The moorland colt enjoys the thorny furze--
The dullest boor will seek a fight, and count
His pleasure by his wounds; you must forget, love,
Eve's curse lays suffering, as their natural lot,
On womankind, till custom makes it light.