Four Plays of Gil Vicente Part 12

So weary am I, I must stay Nor go my way, So void of grace, so frail a creature Am I now grown.

52 Sir, go thy way: I cannot strive Nor hope now further to advance, So fallen I.

_Angel._ But two steps more to where doth live She who will give To thee celestial sustenance Charitably.

53 Thither shalt thou go and rest, And shalt taste there of that fare New strength to borrow: Unrivalled is that hostess blest To give of the best To those who weeping come to her, Laden with sorrow.

54 _Soul._ Is it far off?

_Angel._ Nay, very near.

Be not downcast, but now be brave, And let us go, For every remedy and cheer Is certain here.

And whatsoever thou wouldst have We can bestow.

55 Such grace is hers that nought can smirch, Such favours will she show to thee, That innkeeper.

_Soul._ Her name?

_Angel._ The Holy Mother Church.

And holy doctors thou shalt see Are there with her.

56 Joyful thence shall thy going be, Filled then with the Holy Spirit And beautified: O soul, take heart, courageously One step for thee, Nay, scarce one step, and thou shalt merit To be a bride.

57 _Devil._ Stay, whither art thou going now?

Such haste is mere unseemly rage And foolishness: What, thou so puffed with pride, canst thou Thus meekly bow To go on churchward e'er old age Doth on thee press?

58 Let pleasure, pleasure rule thy ways, For many hours in years to roll To thee are given, And when death comes to end thy days, If prayer thou raise, Then all sins that can vex a soul Shall be forgiven.

59 Look to thy wealth and property: There is a group of houses should Be thine by right, Great source of income would they be, Unhappily At thy parents' death the matter stood In no clear light.

60 The case is simple, 'tis averred Such lawsuits in a trice are won At laughter's spell: Next Tuesday let the case be heard And, in a word, Finish thou well what is begun.

Be sensible.

61 _Soul._ O silence, for the love of G.o.d, Persecute me no more: thy hate Doth it not suffice High Heaven's heirs that it hinder should From their abode?

My life to thee early and late I sacrifice.

62 But leave me: so I may efface The cruel wrong that shamelessly Thou hast thus wrought; For now I have scarce breathing-s.p.a.ce To reach that place Where for this poison there may be Some antidote.

63 _Angel._ See the inn: a sure retreat, Even for all those a true home Who would have life.

_Church._ O laden with sore toil and heat!

O tired feet!

_Soul._ Yea, for I destined was to come Weary of strife.

64 _Church._ Who art thou? whither wouldst thou win?

_Soul._ I know not whither, outcast, fated At fortune's whim, A soul unholy, steeped in Its mortal sin, Against the G.o.d who had created Me like to Him.

65 I am that soul ill-starred, unblest, That by nature shone in gleaming Robe of white, Of angel's beauty once possessed, Yea, loveliest, Like a ray refulgent streaming Filled with light.

66 And by my ill-omened fate, My atrocious devilries, Sins treasonous, More dead than death is now my state Bowed with this weight That nought can lighten, vanities Most poisonous.

67 I am a sinner obstinate, Perverse, that know no remedy For this my plight, Oppressed by guilt most obdurate, And profligate, Inclined to evil constantly And all delight.

68 And I banished from my lore All my perfect ornaments And natural graces, By prudence I set no store But evermore Rejoiced in all these vile vestments And worldly places.

69 At each step taken in earthly cares I further sank away from praise, Earning but blame: Have mercy upon one who fares Lost unawares: For, innocence lost, I might not raise Myself from shame.

70 And, for my greater evil, I Can no more repent me fully, Since in new mood My thoughts are mutinous and cry For liberty, Unwilling to obey me duly As once they would.

71 O help me, lady innkeeper, For Satan even now his hand Doth on me lay, And so grievously I err In my despair That I know not if I go or stand Or backward stray.

72 Succour thou my helplessness And strengthen me with holy fare, For I perish, Of thy n.o.ble saintliness Liberal to bless, For knowing my deserts I dare No hope to cherish.

73 I acknowledge all my sin And before thee meekly thus Forgiveness crave.

O Lady, let me now but win Into thine inn, Since One suffered even for us, That He might save.

74 Bid me welcome, Mother holy, s.h.i.+eld of all who are forsaken Utterly.

_Church._ Enter to thy seat there lowly, Yet come slowly, For the viands thou seest were baken By G.o.d most high.

75 Lo ye my pillars, doctor, saint, Ambrose, Thomas and Jerome And Augustine, In my service wax not faint, Nor show constraint, And to thee, soul, shall be welcome This fare of mine.

76 To the holy kitchen go: Let us this frail soul restore, That she find grace To reach her journey's end and know Her path, that so By G.o.d brought hither she no more Fail in life's race.

(_Meanwhile Satan goes to and fro, cutting many capers, and another devil comes and says:_)

77 _2nd D._ You're like a lion in a cage.

_1st D._ I'm all afire, with anger blind.

_2nd D._ Why, what's the matter?

_1st D._ To be so taken in, my rage Can nought a.s.suage Nor any rest be to my mind; For, as I flatter 78 Myself, I had by honeyed word Deceived a certain soul, all quick For fires of h.e.l.l.

_2nd D._ Who made you throw it overboard?

_1st D._ He of the sword.

_2nd D._ He played just such another trick On me as well.

79 For I had overcome a soul, Ready to hang itself, unsteady In its despair; Yes, it was given to us whole And I myself was making ready To drag't down there.

80 And lo he made it weep and weep So that the tears ran down along The very ground: You might have heard my curses deep And cries of rage echo among The hills around.

81 But I have hopes that what I've lost Some other day I shall regain, So will we all.

_1st D._ I, brother, cannot share your trust, But I will tempt this soul again Whate'er befall.

82 With new promises will I woo her When from the Church she shall have come Forth to the street Upon her journey: I will to her, And beshrew her If I turn not all their triumph To defeat.

(_The Soul enters with the Angel._)

83 _Soul._ O let not thy protection fail me, Guardian angel, help thy child.

O foes most base, Infidels, why would you a.s.sail me Who to my G.o.d am reconciled And in His grace?

84 Leave me, O ye tempters, leave Unto this most precious feast Of Him who died, Served to sinners for reprieve Of those who grieve For their Redeemer Lord, the Christ And crucified.

(_While the Soul is seated at the table and the Angel standing by her side, the Doctors come with four covered kitchen dishes, singing _Vexilla regis prodeunt_, and after placing them on the table, St Augustine says:_)

85 _St Aug._ Lady, thou that to this feast, Supper of celestial fare n.o.bly divine, Comest as a bidden guest, Must now divest Thyself of worldly thought and care That once were thine.

86 Thou thy body's eyes must close And in fetters sure be tied Fierce appet.i.te, Treacherous guides, infernal foes: Thy ways are those That are a safe support and guide For the contrite.

87 _Church._ Sir, by thee be the table blest: In thy benedictory prayer, To bring relief And new strength to this our guest, Be there expressed The Pa.s.sion's glory in despair And all its grief.

88 Thou, O soul, with orisons, The Virgin's sorrows contemplating Abide even there, And ye others make response Since for this have you been waiting Wrapped in prayer.

(_St Augustine's prayer:_)

89 G.o.d whose might on high appears, Who camest to this world In human guise, In this vale of many fears And sullen tears Thy great glory hast unfurled Before our eyes; 90 And thy Son most delicate By His natural majesty Of divine birth, Ah, in blood and wounds prostrate Is now his state For our vile infirmity And little worth.

91 O Thou ruler of the sky, High G.o.d of power divine, Enduring might, Who for thy creature, man, to die Didst not deny Thy G.o.dhead, and madest Thine Our mortal plight.

92 And thy daughter, mother, bride, n.o.ble flower of the skies, The Virgin blest, Gentle Dove, when her Son died, G.o.d crucified, Ah what tears shed by those eyes Her grief attest.

93 O most precious tears that well From that virgin heart distilled One by one, Flowing at thy sorrow's spell They those perfect eyes have filled And still flow on.

94 Who but one of them might have In it most manifestly That grief to prove, Even that woe and suffering grave Which then overwhelmed thee For thy dear love.