Lead me, ye guards, Lead me on to the rack, or to the flames; I’ll thank your gracious mercy. So ran the recitative, concluding with Handel’s habitual pom ... pom. I was proud of being able to sing it, for it was in the most uncompromising minor and the intervals were very tricky; also I had enough music in me to know that without it the dulcet air that followed was much less effective. And I liked singing it because the idea of something worse than death had a powerful appeal to my imagination; the Minstrel Boy had gone to his death, but the heroine of this song was threatened with something worse than death. What it was, I had no idea, but, with my passion for extremes, I contemplated it with ecstasy. Besides, it was a woman’s song, and I could feel that I was undergoing these harsh experiences not only for Marian, but with her.... Together we confronted the fate worse than death; together we soared to our apotheosis: Angels! Ever bright and fair, Take, oh take me to your care.
