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Silk and broider'd jacket small!
Nought's too good, and nought too bad,
If 'twill warm my starving lad.
He'll be going by-and-by.
Thaw his body ere he die!
Brand.
[To Agnes.]
Choice is calling! Hear'st thou now?
The Woman.
Store enough of clothes hast thou
For thy dead child: hast thou none
For my death-doom'd living one?
Brand.
Is not this a warning cry
Importuning bodefully?
The Woman.
Give!
Agnes.
'Tis sacrilege blood-red
Desecration of the dead!
Brand.
Vainly given to death he was
If thou at the threshold pause.
Agnes.
[Crushed.]
I obey. My heart's quick root
I will trample under foot.
Woman, come thou and receive,
I will share it with thee.
