Sophia among the Philosophers (excerpt from Discourse in the Garden)

By Richard Mather

[Disguised.] Yes, it is I. In I come, out I go. Yes, I am it. It writes. I will write a supplication. Here. Now. As follows.

And in that hall

there was a cruel prison (which men don’t call fayre),

a place of wasted time. [SOPHIA stops.] No, wait...

Life is not growing like a tree and love

is not to be had.

God, our help, consider us when we pass.

God, whose shrine stands in that hall, receive these persons.

Autumn has come within our imaginings.

Until you come, your children will wander, too excitable.

It is the limes dreaming the sun or always the same heart, always.