MICHAEL
His lean throat freeze!--But she--
Barbara! Barbara!--
PIPER
Patience. She will come,
Dressed like a bride.
MICHAEL
Ah, do not mock me so.
PIPER
I mock not.
MICHAEL
She will never look at me.
PIPER
Rather than be a nun, I swear she will
Look at thee twice,--and with a long, long look.
[Chant approaches in the distance, coming from Hamelin.
VOICES
Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla,
Teste David cum Sibylla.
Quantus tremor est futurus,
Quando judex est venturus,
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
PIPER
Bah, how they whine! Why do they drag it so?
MICHAEL
[overcome]
Oh, can it be the last of all? O Saints!--
O blessed Francis, Ursula, Catherine!
Hubert--and Crispin--Pantaleone--Paul!
George o' the Dragon!--Michael the Archangel!
PIPER
Michael Sword-eater, canst not swallow a chant?
The well, the well!--Take care.
VOICES
[nearer]
Inter oves locum praesta,
Et ab hoedis me sequestra,
Statuens in parte dextra.
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis:
Voca me cum benedictis.
[MICHAEL climbs down the ancient well, reaching his head up warily,
to see.
The PIPER waves to him debonairly, points to the tree-tops, left,
and stands a moment showing in his face his disapproval of the
music. He fingers his pipe. As the hymn draws near, he scrambles
among the bushes, left, and disappears.
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