PRINCESS.
I know
All heinoosness imputed by their foes.
Father, mistake me not : I urge no plea
To shield this hellnspawn, loathed by all who love
The lamb and kiss the Cross. I had not guessed
Such obscure creatures crawled upon my path,
Had not my son — I know not how misled —
Deigned to ennoble with his great regard,
A sparkle midst the dust motes. She is sacred.
What is her tribe to me ? Her kith and kin
May rot or roast — tiie Jews of Nordhausen
May hang, drown, perish like the Jews of France,
But she shall live — Liebhaid von Orb, the Jewess,
The Prince, my son, elects to love.
PRIOR.
Amen!
Washed in baptismal waters she shall be
Led like the clean-fleeced yeanling to the fold.
Trust me, my daughter — for through me the Church
Which is the truth, which is the life, doth speak.
Yet first 't were best essay to cure the Prince
Of his moon-fostered madness, bred, no doubt.
By baneful potions which these cunning knaves
Are skilled to mix.
