Page:Elfrida, a Dramatic Poem - Mason (1752).djvu/34

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Might lay their load of misery for an hour?Have ye no food, however mean and homely,Wherewith I might recruit defective nature?Ev'n while I speak, I feel my spirits fail;And well, full well! I know, these trembling feet,Eer I can pace a hundred, steps, will sinkBeneath their wretched burthen.
CHORUS.What shall we do, my sistePiteous sight!What shall we do, my sisters? To admitThis man beneath the roof, would be to scornThe Earl's strict interdict; and yet my heartBleeds to behold that white, old, reverend, head,Bow'd with such misery.—Yes, we must aid him.Hie thee, poor Pilgrim, to yon neighb'ring bow'r,O'er which, an old oak spreads his awful arm,Mantled in brownest foliage, and, beneathThe ivy, gadding from th' untwisted stem,Curtains each verdant side. There thou may'st rest,There also find some dry'd, autumnal fruit,Lodg'd in the hollow of its aged trunk.Much do we wish 'twere better fare.
ORGAR.Much do we wish 'twere better faKind Heav'n!Reward—
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