The Dean.
[Comes in, followed by some of those who
remained behind.]
O my beloved! O my sheep!
To the old shepherd's voice give ear!
The Schoolmaster.
[To the throng.]
A home no more we have below;
Better we follow up the steep!
The Dean.
That ye could grieve my heart so sore,
And pierce me with a wound so deep!
Brand.
Thou wast their soul's scourge evermore!
The Dean.
Don't heed him! He is stuffing you
With idle promises.
Several.
That's true!
The Dean.
But we are gracious, and forgive
Where we true penitence perceive.
O, turn your eyes into your hearts
And mark the diabolic arts
With which he won you to his aid!
The Multitude.
Ay, sure enough; we were betray'd!
The Dean.
And then consider; what can ye,
